AHBULANCE  NO.  10 

PERSONAL  LETTERS  FROM 
THE  FRONT 


BY 

LESLIE  BUSWELL 


Columbia  <Bnit* r£itj> 
intijeCitpofitogork 

THE  LIBRARIES 


Bequest  of 

Frederic  Bancroft 

1860-1945 


Louis  C.  Haggerty 


AMBULANCE   NUMBER  10 


LESLIE   BLSWELL 


AMBULANCE  NO.  10 

PERSONAL  LETTERS  FROM 
THE  FRONT 

BY 

LESLIE   BUSWELL 


.£&& 


BOSTON    AND    NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN  COMPANY 


R-* 


COPYRIGHT,    I915    AND    1916,    BY    HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN    COMPANY 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 


J 


T- 


Of 


EDITOR'S  NOTE 

(August,  1916) 

Some  months  ago  a  few  copies  of  these 
^  letters  were  printed,  for  private  distri- 
J  bution,  under  the  title  of  "  With  the 
£  American  Ambulance  Field  Service  in 
%£\  France."  So  keen  was  the  interest  that 
.£  they  stirred,  and  so  many  the  requests  for 
them  which  followed,  that  permission 
for  their  publication  and  sale  in  America 
was  subsequently  asked  of  the  Ministry  of 
Foreign  Affairs  in  Paris.  The  French  Gov- 
ernment, which  had  conferred  upon  their 
author  last  October  the  Croix  de  Guerre 
for  valor,  has  now  given  the  necessary 
sanction  and  approval.  The  preface  and 
introduction,  written  for  the  original  edi- 
tion, have  been  left  here  unaltered,  as  they 
explain  the  circumstances  to  which  this 
book  owes  its  existence.  The  title  only, 
for  brevity's  sake,  has  been  changed  to 
"Ambulance  No.  10." 


FOREIGN   AFFAIRS 

Office  of  the  Minister 


Paris,  August  14,  1916. 

M.  Berthelot,  Ministre  Plenipoten- 
tiaire,  Chef  de  Cabinet  du  Ministre  des 
Affaires  Etrangeres,  President  du  Conseil, 
after  having  read  with  interest  Mr.  Leslie 
BusioelVs  book, "  With  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service  in  France''  considers 
that  the  public  sale  in  the  United  States  of 
so  excellent  a  record  can  only  prove  advan- 
tageous, and  he  desires  to  state  that,  in  be- 
half of  France,  the  censor  finds  nothing  to 
suppress. 

[signed]  Berthelot 


'atrfj  &/*a/ {&<&'■&) 


/Sff<#<-C 


u*+oZ."*LJh  A.6w-r^V      a**uC<K**£   /***» 

J>  .  <£-r  C    fto  j  wdJL    (<  Witt    /£L  ~mJmtm** 

Ofil^f-    <w^.    PS£&      (uJ^        c^t      ^  Or  9JUJ 

I  u-> .         co     z:         IT1 1  /^  > 

l^\     2    g     /C/  Pour  le  Ministre  et  par  automation, 
fh^/^^y  Le  Chef  du  Cabinet  et  du  Personnel 

m"  — 


PREFACE 

These  letters,  according  to  ordinary 
ethics  in  such  matters,  should  not,  per- 
haps, be  published.  They  were  merely 
intended  as  tributes  of  friendship  and 
remembrance.  Casually  written  —  in  pen- 
cil often  —  at  moments  between  duties, 
with  no  thought  of  their  being  destined 
to  any  further  purpose  than  that  distance 
and  absence  might  count  a  little  less 
through  the  pictures  they  would  give  of  a 
day's  work  far  away. 

Excepting  that  here  and  there  in  each 
letter  a  few  details  quite  personal  have 
been  omitted,  and  of  course  the  names  of 
places  sometimes  changed,  they  are  un- 
touched. Their  author  has  had  no  chance 
to  revise  them,  nor,  it  must  be  confessed, 
has  his  consent  to  their  printing  been 
asked.1  Knowing  him,  there  seemed  little 

1  This,  of  course,  has  now  (Aug.,  1916)  been  granted. 


x  PREFACE 

likelihood  of  his  believing  them  worthy  of 
special  attention;  not  at  least  without  a 
correspondence  of  persuasion,  and  much 
loss  of  time.  Only  the  exigency  of  the 
hour  and  a  conviction  of  their  worth  have 
led  me  to  take  this  step.  If  they  give  to 
those  who  may  now  read  as  clear  a  vision 
as  they  have  given  me  of  the  chivalrous 
work  our  young  American  volunteers  are 
doing  in  France,  they  will  have  achieved 
something.    If  occasionally,  some  reader 

—  grateful  for  this  proof  that  our  country 
is  contributing  so  worthy  a  part  to  the 
heroism  of  to-day  —  should  feel  inspired 
to  do  what  he  is  able  toward  the  encour- 
agement and  continuation  of  this  work, 
these  letters  will  have  served  a  high  pur- 
pose. The  knowledge  that  a  possibility  so 
worth  while  would  ultimately  outweigh 
with  my  friend  any  personal  considera- 
tion is  justification  of  the  liberty  taken 

—  and  of  this  book. 

Perhaps  for  the   time   and  effort  the 


PREFACE  xi 

writer  of  these  records  so  generously  spent 
for  friendship's  sake  in  the  midst  of  hard 
and  hazardous  days  he  may  find  recom- 
pense in  the  realization  that,  aside  from 
the  pleasure  which  their  coming  meant  to 
one  who  looked  for  them,  they  may  bring 
much  benefit  to  "  the  Service "  he  so 
valiantly  describes,  and  through  that 
service,  to  thousands  of  men  and  women 
whose  happiness  death  might  otherwise 
have  destroyed. 

H.  D.  S. 

Gloucester,  Massachusetts 
September  loth,  1915 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Leslie  Bdswell Frontispiece 

Some  of  the  Section  at  Pont-a-Mousson     ...  1 

Bridge  over  Moselle  at  Pont-a-Mousson    ...  6 

Trench  Work 6 

Soldiers'  Graves  at  Bois-Le-Pretre        ....  8 

Putting  in  Upper  Stretcher 16 

Loading  an  Ambulance 16 

Dieulouard 22 

Fishing  within  Rifle-Range  of  the  Bocheb       .       .  22 

Poste  de  Secour  at  Auberge  St.  Pierre      ...  40 

Decorations  for  the  4th  at  Headquarters       .       .  44 

PoNT-A-MoUSSON   HOUSE   HIT   BY    A    "210"            ...  50 

Burning  Church  at  Pont-a-Mousson  struck  by  In- 
cendiary Shell 56 

montauville 56 

House  in  which  Large  Hole  was  made  by  a  Shell  76 

The  Snapshot  of  a  German  First  Line  Trench  from 

a  French  Advance  Post 84 

Houses  at  Pont-a-Mousson 92 

Cemetery  at  Pont-a-Mousson 102 


xiv  ILLUSTRATIONS 

View  op  Moselle  behind  my  House        .      .      .      .106 

Quart-en-Reserve IOC 

Grenade  Catapult,  First  Line  Trenches     .      .      .132 

Main  Street  op  Fey-en-Haye 140 

The  Wreck  op  the  German  Aeroplane  .      .      .      -  144 


INTRODUCTION 

For  many  years  before  the  war  there 
existed  at  Neuilly-sur-Seine,  a  suburb  of 
Paris,  a  semi-philanthropic  institution 
supported  by  Americans  and  known  as  the 
American  Hospital.  At  the  outbreak  of 
the  war  this  institution  instantly  and 
naturally  became  the  rallying-point  for 
Americans  who  loved  France  and  wanted 
to  help  care  for  her  wounded  soldiers. 
Within  a  few  weeks  it  was  evident,  how- 
ever, that  larger  quarters  must  be  found. 
A  splendid  new  school  building,  which  was 
rapidly  nearing  completion  in  the  neigh- 
borhood, was  rented;  its  large,  well- 
lighted,  and  well-ventilated  rooms  were 
transformed  into  hospital  wards,  operat- 
ing-rooms, dormitories,  and  offices;  a  mul- 
titude of  doctors,  surgeons,  and  nurses 
were  brought  over  from  the  United  States; 


xvi  INTRODUCTION 

and  thus  the  American  Ambulance  Hos- 
pital in  the  Lycee  Pasteur,  with  accom- 
modations for  more  than  six  hundred 
wounded  soldiers,  came  into  being.  Soon 
the  generosity  of  another  American  friend 
of  France  made  possible  a  second  Ameri- 
can Ambulance  Hospital,  and  the  ven- 
erable College  of  Juilly,  located  about 
thirty  miles  east  of  Paris,  was  steam-fitted, 
electric-lighted  and  plumbed,  and  made 
over  into  a  hospital  for  about  two  hundred 
additional  wounded,  with  distinguished 
American  surgeons  in  charge. 

From  the  outset  it  was  clear  that  the 
saving  of  soldiers'  lives  depended  quite  as 
much  upon  the  quick  transportation  of 
the  wounded  as  upon  their  surgical  treat- 
ment, and  in  September,  1914,  when  the 
battle  front  surged  close  to  Paris,  a  dozen 
automobiles  given  by  Americans,  hastily 
extemporized  into  ambulances,  and  driven 
by  American  volunteers,  ran  back  and 
forth  night  and  day  between  the  western 


INTRODUCTION  xvii 

end  of  the  Marne  Valley  and  Paris.  This 
was  the  beginning  of  the  American  Ambu- 
lance Field  Service  with  which  the  follow- 
ing letters  have  to  do.  During  the  autumn 
and  winter  that  followed  many  more  cars 
were  given  and  many  more  young  Ameri- 
cans volunteered,  and  when  the  battle 
front  retired  from  the  vicinity  of  Paris, 
sections  of  motor  ambulances  were  de- 
tached from  the  hospitals  at  Neuilly  and 
Juilly  and  became  more  or  less  independ- 
ent units  attached  to  the  several  French 
armies,  serving  the  dressing-stations  and 
Army  hospitals  within  the  Army  zone. 
To-day  more  than  a  hundred  such  am- 
bulances given  and  driven  by  American 
friends  of  France  are  carrying  wounded 
French  soldiers  along  the  very  fighting 
front  in  Belgium  and  France.1 

In  Belgium  and  Northern  France, 
where  the  American  Ambulance  Field 
Service  has  had  an  important  Section  since 
the  early  months  of  the  war,  the  valiant 

1  There  are  at  present  (1916)  over  two  hundred. 


xviii  INTRODUCTION 

service  rendered  during  the  second  battle 
of  the  Yser,  and  during  the  many  bom- 
bardments from  long-range  guns  in  and 
about  Dunkirk,  has  attracted  official  rec- 
ognition from  the  highest  officers  in  the 
Army.  At  the  time  of  the  prolonged  bat- 
tles in  the  vicinity  of  Ypres  in  May,  Gen- 
eral Putz  wrote  that  the  American  Section 
had,  by  working  five  nights  and  days  with- 
out interruption,  assured  the  evacuation 
of  the  hospitals  in  Everdinghe,  though 
under  continual  shell  fire  which  covered 
all  of  the  roads  in  the  neighborhood  and 
even  the  hospitals  themselves.  "I  cannot 
praise  too  highly,"  he  added,  "the  courage 
and  devotion  of  which  the  men  in  your 
Section  have  given  evidence,  and  I  ask 
you  to  transmit  to  them  my  congratula- 
tions and  my  thanks  for  the  great  physical 
effort  which  they  have  so  generously  made 
and  the  signal  services  which  they  have 
rendered." 

In  the  section  of  Alsace  which  France 


INTRODUCTION  xix 

has  definitely  recovered  from  Germany, 
the  American  Ambulance  Field  Service  has 
now  the  only  automobile  ambulances  and 
they  are  performing  a  service  which  no 
other  automobile  ambulances  could  per- 
form. Because  of  the  lightness  and  power 
of  our  little  cars,  and  because  we  are  will- 
ing to  use  them  up  in  this  service  and  re- 
place them  without  restrictions,  our  am- 
bulances are  running  over  steep  mountain 
passes  in  Alsace  which  the  French  auto- 
ambulances  are  unable  to  cross  and  over 
which  wounded  soldiers  were  formerly 
carried  on  mule-back.  They  have  been 
able  to  reduce  the  duration  of  the  journey 
of  the  wounded  between  the  dressing-sta- 
tions and  the  hospitals  from  four  or  five 
hours  to  less  than  one,  at  the  same  time 
substituting  transport  in  a  comfortable 
springed  vehicle  for  the  agony  of  transport 
in  the  mule-litters.  Two  of  the  men  in  this 
Section  have  already  received  the  "Croix- 
de-Guerre"  for  special  acts  of  valor. 


xx  INTRODUCTION 

We  have  another  Section  of  ambulances 
attached  to  an  American  army  field  hospi- 
tal of  thirty  tents,  which  is  also  a  branch  of 
the  American  Ambulance  Hospital  made 
available  to  the  French  Army  by  gener- 
ous American  friends.  This  movable  hos- 
pital is  equipped  to  care  for  one  hun- 
dred and  forty  wounded,  and  the  whole 
installation  of  ward  tents,  officers'  and 
nurses'  tents,  operating-tents,  mess-tents, 
etc.,  can  be  mounted  by  our  men  or  de- 
mounted and  packed  on  motor-trucks 
ready  for  transportation  in  less  than  three 
hours.  It  is  destined  to  be  of  great  service 
in  the  devastated  regions  when  the  French 
Army  begins  its  advance. 

Finally,  we  have  a  Section  of  ambu- 
lances in  Lorraine  to  which  has  been  en- 
trusted exclusively  the  service  of  carrying 
the  wounded  in  the  much-f ought-over  re- 
gion around  Bois-le-Pretre.  This  Section 
alone  has  carried  on  the  average  about 
seventy-five  hundred  wounded  per  month. 


INTRODUCTION 


xxi 


The  men  work  continually  within  range  of 
the  German  shells  and  are  almost  daily 
under  German  fire.  The  Section  as  a 
whole,  and  their  leader,  have  received 
honorable  mention  in  official  dispatches 
and  have  been  given  the  "Croix-de- 
Guerre." 

The  daily  life  and  activities  of  the  men 
of  this  section  are  sketched  by  one  of 
its  members  in  the  following  personal  let- 
ters, which  —  while  written  without  any 
thought  of  publication  —  are  now  pri- 
vately printed  in  order  that  those  gener- 
ous Americans  on  the  other  side  of  the 
Atlantic  who  are  making  this  chivalrous 
work  possible  may  more  truly  appreciate 
its  value  and  efficiency.  From  this  uncon- 
scious story  one  gets  an  impression  of  the 
devoted  service  which  young  Americans 
are  rendering  in  France  and  of  the  way 
in  which  they  are  reducing  the  agony  and 
saving  the  lives  of  wounded  French  sol- 
diers.  One  sees,  too,  how  deeply  this  serv- 


XX11 


INTRODUCTION 


ice  is  appreciated,  and  how  through  it  the 
old  friendship  which  has  existed  between 
France  and  the  United  States  since  the 
very  beginning  of  our  national  history  is 
being  quickened  and  rejuvenated. 

"  Happy  are  all  free  peoples,  too  strong  to  be 

dispossessed, 
But  blessed  are  those  among  nations  who  dare  to 
be  strong  for  the  rest." 

A.  P.  A. 
September  6, 1915. 


"  Lord,  Thy  most  pointed  pleasure  take 
And  stab  my  spirit  broad  awake." 

Stevenson 


AMBULANCE  NO.  10 

PERSONAL  LETTERS  FROM  THE  FRONT 

American  Ambulance,  June  17th. 

I  came  here  —  Pont-a-Mousson  —  last 
night  after  a  seven  hours'  journey  to 
Nancy  from  Paris.  On  the  way  I  found 
much  to  interest  me,  as  (if  you  will  look 
on  your  map)  you  will  see  that  the  railway 
runs  beside  the  River  Marne,  then  the 
Meuse,  and  lastly  the  Moselle.  An  officer 
pointed  out  to  me  all  the  interesting  places 
where  the  Germans  advanced  and  then  re- 
treated in  a  hurry,  —  or  practically  a 
rout,  —  leaving  everything  behind  even 
to  their  flags,  which  I  believe  are  now  in 
London.  After  passing  these  and  nearing 
Nancy  I  saw  what  looked  like  a  fleet  of 
aeroplanes,  and  the  officer  explained  to  me 


2 


AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 


that  it  was  a  flying  Taube  being  shot  at  by 
the  French.   It  looked  like  this:  — 


b& 


I  am  told  that  they  rarely  hit  one. 

On  arriving  at  Nancy  I  was  met  by  Salis- 
bury, our  Section  leader,  and  after  a  very 
good  meal  in  the  most  beautiful  little  town 
you  could  hope  to  see  (and  where  the  Kai- 
ser and  ten  thousand  troops  in  dress  pa- 
rade were  waiting  on  a  hill  close  by  to  en- 
ter in  state  last  October),  we  started  by 
motor  for  Pont-a-Mousson.  Some  fifteen 
kilometres  farther  on,  our  lights  were  put 
out  and  we  then  entered  the  region  under 


FIELD  SERVICE  3 

shell  fire.  It  was  a  funny  feeling  listening 
to  my  conductor  talking  about  how  this 
shell  and  that  shell  hit  here  and  there;  and 
all  along  the  route  we  passed  torn-up 
trees,  houses,  and  roads.  At  last  we  came 
to  Pont-a-Mousson,  a  dear  little  village 
with  about  eight  thousand  inhabitants, 
and  felt  our  way,  so  to  speak,  in  the  dark- 
ness and  silence  to  the  barracks  which  are 
now  the  Headquarters  of  the  Ambulance. 
I  found  that  there  were  about  twenty  cars 
and  twenty-two  men  here,  the  latter  all 
enthusiastic  about  their  work  and  the  help 
the  Section  were  giving  the  French.  The 
day  before  I  arrived  a  shell  hit  the  house 
next  door,  and  on  first  sight  one  would 
think  it  was  the  barracks  itself  which  had 
been  hit.  These  huge  high-explosive  shells 
are  sent  into  the  town  every  two  or  three 
days,  and  everywhere  one  sees  masses  of 
brick  and  stone,  all  that  remains  of  houses 
struck.  The  Germans  have  bombarded 
the  town  over  one  hundred  and  ten  times. 


4  AMERICAN   AMBULANCE 

After  being  introduced  to  the  "boys,"  I 
went  to  my  room  which  is  some  one  hun- 
dred and  sixty  metres  up  the  road  —  nearer 
the  trenches,  but  safer  for  all  that.  Here  I 
found  I  was  to  share  the  house  with  an- 
other man,  Schroeder  by  name,  a  Hol- 
lander and  a  very  nice  fellow,  who  has 
already  lost  one  brother  and  has  had  an- 
other wounded  in  the  French  army.  My 
bedroom  is  a  quite  typical  French  peasant 
room,  very  comfortable,  and  I  felt  grate- 
ful to  know  that  I  was  to  have  a  bed  and 
not  straw  to  sleep  on.  I  went  to  sleep 
there  my  first  night  in  comparative  quiet- 
ness, only  hearing  now  and  then  a  crack  of 
a  musket  which  in  peace  time  one  would 
think  was  merely  a  back-fire  of  some 
motor.  In  the  morning  I  woke  at  six  and 
went  to  breakfast  in  our  barracks,  which 
is  always  served  at  seven  o'clock.  Walk- 
ing out  of  my  front  door  I  came  into  the 
main  street.  To  the  left  is  the  way  to 
the  town  and  the  barracks  —  to  the  right 


FIELD   SERVICE  5 

the  road  goes  straight  on,  an  avenue  of 
trees.  My  friend  or  housemate  pointed 
out,  about  five  hundred  metres  away,  what 
looked  like  a  fallen  tree  across  the  road. 
Imagine  my  feelings  when  he  told  me  that 
they  were  the  French  trenches.  To  the 
right  and  left  of  this  avenue  are  hills  and 
on  the  left  runs  the  River  Moselle.  On  the 
ridge  of  hills  on  the  right,  one  sees  a  brown 
line  —  these  are  the  German  trenches, 
and  walking  down  the  road  to  breakfast, 
one  gets  the  knowledge  that  a  first-class 
rifle  shot  could  pick  one  off.  After  break- 
fast I  was  asked  by  one  of  the  men,  Roe- 
der,  if  I  would  like  to  look  about  the  place, 
and  I  jumped  at  the  invitation.  We  got 
into  a  Ford  Ambulance  (no  one  can  real- 
ize the  excellence  of  the  Ford  for  this 
purpose  until  he  has  seen  what  they  can 
do),  and  we  started  on  a  tour,  or  "petit 
promenade,"  as  an  officer  told  us  we  were 
doing. 

Pont-a-Mousson  was  in  the  hands  of 


6  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

the  Germans  for  five  days  and  our  Head- 
quarters were  the  German  Officers'  Head- 
quarters. The  French  partially  blew  up 
the  bridge  which  crosses  the  Moselle  at 
this  most  picturesque  point,  and  for  the 
last  five  days  the  Germans  have  been 
bombarding  it,  attempting  in  their  turn 
to  destroy  it ;  many  of  the  houses  round  it 
seem  to  have  been  hit,  and  the  two  places 
where  shells  have  taken  most  effect  are  on 
the  bridge  the  French  have  repaired  with 
wood.  The  boys  tell  me  it  is  a  wonderful 
sight  to  see  the  water  rising  like  a  geyser 
when  the  shells  hit  in  the  river.  To  show 
how  careless  the  few  remaining  peasants 
are,  directly  the  Germans  have  "appar- 
ently" ceased  firing,  they  get  into  boats  to 
pick  up  the  fish  killed  in  hundreds  by  the 
concussion.  We  left  the  river  (where  we 
could  be  clearly  seen  by  the  Germans  en- 
trenched some  thousand  metres  away), 
and  I  confess  I  sighed  in  relief  —  for  it  is 
difficult  to  accustom  one's  self  immedi- 


I 


BRIDGE  OVER  MOSELLE  AT  PONT-A-MOUSSON 


TRENCH    WORK 


FIELD  SERVICE  7 

ately  to  the  possibility  of  receiving  a 
bullet  in  one's  head  or  a  shell  in  one's 
stomach.  We  then  went  through  the  town, 
everywhere  being  told  stories  of  how,  on 
such  and  such  a  day  last  week,  five  men 
were  killed  there  and  three  wounded  here, 
etc.  All  the  houses  are  left  open,  and  one 
can  walk  into  any  doorway  that  looks 
interesting  and  do  a  tour  of  inspection. 
We  left  Pont-a-Mousson  and  started  up 
the  hill  to  our  first  "  place  de  secour"  — 

X —  you  will  see  it  on  your  map 

some  three  kilometres  from  Pont-a-Mous- 
son.  Roeder,  as  we  sped  on,  carefully 
explained  that  I  was  never  to  drive  along 
this  particular  road,  but  was  to  take  a 
back  way,  as  the  Commandant  had  for- 
bidden any  one  to  use  this  route  which 
was  in  full  view  of  the  German  artillery 
and  trenches.  If  he  could  have  realized 
how  I  felt,  he  would  have  taken  me  by  the 
back  way  that  time  too. 


8  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

On  the  other  side  of  the  hill  on  our  right 
extended  the  famous  Bois-le-Pretre;  but 
it  is  no  longer  a  wood  —  it  is  just  a  wilder- 
ness with  a  few  brown  stumps  sticking  up. 
"Would  you  like  to  go  into  the  Bois?"  I 
was  asked.  I  felt  I  had  been  in  as  much 
danger  as  I  was  likely  to  get  into,  so  I 
said  yes,  and  we  turned  to  the  left  and 
mounted  a  steep  hill  and  entered  it.  Here 
the  birds  were  singing  and  all  was  green 
and  beautiful  (it  was  a  part  where  the  ar- 
tillery had  not  been)  but  one  could  see 
trench  after  trench  deserted.  Here  was  an 
officers'  cemetery,  a  terribly  sad  sight,  six 
hundred  officers'  graves.  Close  by  were 
also  the  graves  of  eighteen  hundred  sol- 
diers. The  little  cemetery  was  quite  im- 
pressive on  the  side  of  this  lovely  green 
hill  with  the  great  trees  all  around  and  the 
little  plain  wood  crosses  at  each  grave.  As 
we  waited  a  broken-down  horse  appeared 
with  a  cart-load  of  what  looked  like  old 
clothes  —  "Les  Morts."  I  had  never  seen 


FIELD  SERVICE  9 

a  dead  body  until  that  moment.  It  was  a 
horrible  awakening  —  eight  stiff,  semi- 
detached, armless,  trunkless,  headless 
bodies,  —  all  men  like  ourselves  with  peo- 
ple loving  them,  —  somewhere,  —  all  gone 
this  way,  —  because  of  —  what?  I  don't 
know,  do  you?  A  grave  had  been  dug  two 
metres  deep,  large  enough  to  hold  sixteen, 
and  then  we  were  asked  to  group  ourselves 
around  the  car  to  be  taken  "pour  sou- 
venir." I  managed  to  do  it.  I  stood  there 
by  those  dead  men  and  tried  to  look  as  if  it 
were  a  natural  thing  to  do.  I  felt  like  be- 
ing sick.  Then  one  by  one  they  were  low- 
ered into  the  grave,  and  when  they  were 
all  laid  out  the  identification  started  to 
take  place  —  the  good  boots  were  taken 
off  —  and  if  a  coat  was  not  too  bloody  or 
torn  it  was  kept  —  "Surely  we  must  be 
going,"  I  said.  "No,  no!  not  before  we 
have  shown  you  the  dead  in  the  fosse 
there."  "Good  God,"  I  cried,  "I  can't  do 
that  now";  and  I  did  n't.     We  returned 


10  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

to  Pont-a-Mousson  for  lunch  at  twelve 
o'clock  and  I  felt  a  very  different  person 

—  and  wondered  how  I  could  have  felt 
faint  the  week  before  on  merely  seeing  the 
photographs  of  wounded  in  our  Neuilly 
Hospital;  —  one  becomes  "habitue,"  they 
tell  me.  I  was  then  officially  handed  over 
the  car  I  am  to  drive,  and  I  began  looking 
over  all  the  parts,  as  we  have  to  do  every- 
thing for  ourselves  here. 

Saturday. 

It  hardly  seems  possible  that  we  are  so 
close  to  the  German  trenches  —  fair  food 

—  even  hot  water  —  wonderful  moon- 
light nights,  and  a  comfortable  bed. 
Every  other  night  we  have  to  sleep  in 
barracks  to  be  on  duty  any  moment,  and 
so  we  sleep  on  straw  and  don't  undress. 
Every    fourth    night    we    are    on    duty 

all  night  and  go    to    X and    stay 

there  in  the  car  taking  wounded  to  the 
first,  second,   and  third  base  hospitals. 


FIELD  SERVICE  11 

Thursday  was  my  baptism  of  fire,  for  we 
had  a  great  artillery  duel,  and  it  was  very 
interesting,  though  not  at  all  quieting  to 
hear  the  big  guns  fired  and  shells  exploded 
over  our  heads.  About  six  o'clock  it 
stopped  and  we  went  in  to  dinner.  After- 
ward another  boy  —  Barclay  —  went  for 
a  walk  with  me,  and  we  stopped  to  talk 
to  two  peasant  girls  who  still  remained  in 
the  town.  "Come  in  and  have  some 
strawberries,"  they  invited.  And  the 
way  these  girls  offered  us  all  the  little 
luxuries  their  house  could  afford  showed 
us  how  respected  the  American  Am- 
bulance is  by  the  peasants  as  well  as  the 
officers.  "Do  you  fence?"  one  of  them 
asked.  "Yes,  a  little,"  I  answered,  and 
foils  were  brought  out  and  we  started  in. 
The  girl  fenced  well,  but  I  managed  to 
remember  a  little  of  what  I  once  knew, 
when  suddenly  I  heard  a  man's  voice  say 
in  French,  "Well  done,  well  done  —  give 
me  the  foils,  my  daughter,  quick";  and  I 


12  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

was  introduced  to  a  fine  old  soldier  who 
had  fought  in  the  campaign  of  1870.  We 
saluted  and  started  again,  but  here  I  soon 
realized  the  touch  of  a  master,  and  al- 
though I  got  in  a  few  hits  I  was  easily 
beaten  and  felt  a  little  downcast.  "But 
my  husband  is  a  professor  of  fencing  for 
forty  years,"  observed  Madame.  I  re- 
tired to  bed,  feeling  that  though  beaten  I 
might  have  many  happy  games  in  the 
evening  at  fencing  with  the  "vieux  maf- 
tre."  Yesterday  I  took  out  my  ambu- 
lance alone  and  carried  eight  wounded  for 
the  first  time.  I  am  now  gradually  slip- 
ping into  my  place  and  the  sense  of 
strangeness  is  passing  off. 

June  19th. 

To  continue  from  where  I  left  off  —  I 
am  now  on  duty  at  the  Bureau  —  our 
Headquarters  here.  Last  night  as  I  was 
finishing  my  dinner  I  was  told  to  go  to 

F to  fetch  a  contagious  case  and 

take  it  to  the  train. 


FIELD  SERVICE  13 

Sunday. 

I  was  suddenly  interrupted  by  being 

called  to  fetch  the  wounded  from  X 

and  I  am  just  back. 

My  roommate  offered  to  come  with  me 
to  get  the  contagious  case  (which  proved 
fortunately  to  be  only  measles),  and  we 
started  off  on  what  I  thought  then  one  of 
the  most  amazing  trips  of  my  life.  Turn- 
ing suddenly  to  the  left  from  the  main 
road,  I  drove  our  little  Ford  three  kilo- 
metres along  the  road,  which  was  in  full 
view  of  the  Germans  and  which  had  been 
the  death  place  of  many  passers-by,  then 
turning  left  again  we  drove  slowly  to  a 
village  so  full  of  soldiers  that  it  seemed 
impossible  so  many  could  even  find  shel- 
ter —  a  quick  turn  to  the  right  —  up  — 
up  —  up  —  first  speed  —  along  a  very 
narrow  road  with  just  room  for  the  car. 
On  both  sides  were  stuck  up  cut  tree 
branches  to  make  the   Germans  think 


14  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

there  was  no  road.  Up  we  went  through 
another  tiny  hill  village  full  of  artillery, 
and  on  every  side,  underground  dugouts 
where  they  all  live  —  trees  blown  down  — 
branches  stuck  here  and  there  to  look  like 
trees,  and  at  last  we  reached  the  top.  The 
water  in  the  radiator  was  boiling,  so  we 
stopped,  walked  a  bit  in  the  most  beauti- 
ful woods,  and  picked  flowers  and  wild 
strawberries  to  the  tune  of  birds  and  dis- 
tant cannon.  In  this  wood  are  heavy  naval 
guns,  but  from  where  and  how  they  were 
ever  taken  there  is  a  puzzle.  On  we  went 
through  more  woods  until  we  were  stopped 
by  a  sentry,  who  directed  us  still  further, 
and  then  I  saw  what  was  the  most  dream- 
like spectacle  I  ever  beheld. 

The  thick  woods  teemed  with  soldiers, 
and  dotted  through  the  forests  were  little 
huts,  very  low,  where  they  live  —  thou- 
sands of  them  —  pathways  starting  every 
twenty  yards  to  some  new  wood  village. 
We  heard  music,  and  on  reaching  our  des- 


FIELD  SERVICE  15 

tination  were  invited  to  inspect  these 
quaint  habitations.  We  walked  down  a 
path  past  hut  after  hut,  and  then  sud- 
denly the  wood  opened  out  and  we  came 
to  a  kind  of  amphitheatre,  and  my  friend 
and  I  were  conducted  to  "fauteuils,"  so  to 
speak,  and  we  listened  (after  much  hand- 
shaking and  "vive  l'Amerique,"  "vive 
l'Angleterre,"  and  "camarades,"  etc.)  to 
a  band  of  three,  banjo,  violin,  and  dul- 
cimer (as  I  write  a  shell  has  just  exploded 
near  by.  I  jumped  to  see  where  —  about 
two  hundred  yards  away  and  the  smoke  is 
slowly  clearing). 

We  soon  left  our  friends  and  took  our 
contagious  case  to  the  station.  After 
passing  through  wonderful  valleys,  hills, 
woods,  and  plains  we  returned  home 
pretty  tired  —  wTondering  how  such  atro- 
cities could  be  taking  place  in  such  a 
perfect    country.     We    go    regularly    to 

X to  get  our  "blesses,"  and  for  two 

out  of  the  six  kilometres  we  are  exposed 


16  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

to  German  view  and  the  whole  of  the  way, 
of  course,  to  shell  fire.  On  my  first  arrival 
at  this  little  mountain  village  I  was  horri- 
fied to  see  two  people  lying  dead  in  the 
road  in  huge  pools  of  blood.  Six  German 
"  150's"  had  been  suddenly  launched  into 
the  village  which  is  full  of  soldiers,  and 
killed  six  soldiers  and  wounded  some  thirty. 
Three  of  the  six  shots  had  landed  actually 
in  the  road  itself.  Two  of  our  ambulances 
were  in  the  street  at  the  time  and  only 
chance  spared  them.  I  asked  where  the 
shells  had  struck,  and  my  stretcher-bearer 
looked  around  for  a  moment  and  then 
pointed  under  my  own  car,  and  there 
was  a  hole  some  nine  inches  deep  and 
two  feet  wide.  It  made  me  feel  rather 
rotten,  I  must  say.  Only  five  minutes 
before  and  it  might  happen  again  at  any 
moment.  I  took  down  three  "  couches,"  as 
the  lying-down  ones  are  called,  and  had 
to  pass  in  front  of  a  battery  of  "75V 
which  fired  as  I  passed  and  gave  me  a 


PUTTING   IN   UPPER   STRETCHER 


LOADING  AN  AMBULANCE 


FIELD  SERVICE  17 

shaky  knee  feeling,  I  can  tell  you.  Then 
backward  and  forward  for  two  hours 
carrying  more  wounded,  and  to  add  to  the 
excitement  it  rained  so  hard  that  I  was 
thankful  I  had  bought  myself  two  uni- 
forms and  could  change.  To-day  is  Sun- 
day, and  after  a  rather  uncomfortable 
night  in  my  clothes  and  a  snatchy  sleep,  I 
have  a  day  off. 

Salisbury,  our  Section  leader,  asked  me 
to  go  with  him  to  Toul,  and  I  went  for 
what  proved  to  be  a  wonderful  drive 
through  sleeping  villages  and  semi-tilled 
land  and  woods  and  valleys.  Toul  is  one 
of  the  .most  fortified  towns  in  France,  and 
as  we  approached  we  saw  trench  after 
trench  and  wire  entanglements,  etc.  The 
Germans,  however,  will  never  advance  so 
far,  I  think.  We  stopped  at  the  aeroplane 
sheds  where  we  picked  up  a  Captain 
(Australian)  and  with  him  entered  Toul, 
a  quiet  sleeping  town  with  a  lovely 
church.    Returning  we  were  taken  over 


18  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

the  sheds  and  saw  a  large  quantity  of  bi- 
planes and  monoplanes.  I  am  now  wait- 
ing to  be  taken  up  into  the  trenches,  but 
the  bombardment  I  spoke  of  earlier  has 
continued  so  heavily  that  I  doubt  if  we 
shall  get  up  to  them  after  all.  The  whole 
Section  here  does  real  work  night  and  day 
amidst  great  hardships  and  no  small 
danger,  and  the  French  appreciation  is 
very  apparent.  German  prisoners  say 
that  the  Germans  intend  utterly  demol- 
ishing Pont-a-Mousson  if  they  have  to 
retire  any  more,  but  it  would  take  about 
two  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  shells  to 
do  it  and  I  doubt  if  it  is  worth  their  while. 
If  any  one  can  imagine  the  feeling  of  a 
peaceful  man  who  suddenly  hears  a  gun 
fired  and  a  shell  whistling  overhead,  fol- 
lowed by  the  explosion,  and  then  vice 
versa  by  the  enemy,  he  will  perhaps  sym- 
pathize with  the  disagreeable  sensation  I 
experienced  when  I  first  heard  it  happen. 
However,  for  five  days  it  has  gone  on 


FIELD  SERVICE  19 

constantly  and  soon  I  shall  become  ac- 
customed. 

Monday. 

This  very  long  letter  will  probably  end 
in  being  so  dull  that  it  will  not  be  worth 
reading,  but  when  everything  is  fresh  to 
me  it  is  easy  to  describe.  After  three  or 
six  weeks  I  shall  probably  write  that  I 
have  no  news,  for  one  day  is  doubtless  a 
repetition  of  the  other,  therefore  while  my 
impressions  are  new  I  must  scribble  them 
down.  I  did  not  get  to  the  trenches  last 
night,  as  the  bombardment  became  so  bad 
it  would  have  been  foolish  to  take  so  great 
a  risk  sight-seeing.  If  we  had  had  to  go  to 
get  wounded,  it  would  have  been  differ- 
ent. I  stood  in  the  road  opposite  the  little 
house  I  live  in  and  watched  the  Germans 

bombard  X .    It  was   rather   like   a 

stage  scene  or  a   colored  picture  show. 

X is  a  little  valley  town  with  the 

conventional  church   steeple   about   two 


20 


AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 


and  one  half  kilometres  as  the  crow  flies 
from  Pont-a-Mousson.1 

Shrapnel,  curiously  enough,  is  not  con- 
sidered very  dangerous  and  the  soldiers 


~_       CERrtAfiS 


here  treat  it  with  contempt.  The  Ger- 
mans use  it  to  keep  people  from  going  on 
to  the  streets  to  put  out  fires  which  may 
have  been  started  by  their  "210's"  or 
"150"  high  explosives.  Late  yesterday 
afternoon  they  set  fire  to  a  haystack,  and 
the  smoke  made  them  think  that  the  vil- 
lage was  on  fire,  so  they  sent  about  100 

1  The  rough  sketch  shows  the  indirect  fire  of  the 
opposing  batteries.  Every  means  to  observe  the  effect 
of  the  batteries  is  used,  such  as  aeroplane  spotters,  etc., 
and  these  observers  communicate  by  electrical  or  visual 
signaling  systems  to  correct  the  fire  of  the  battery. 


FIELD  SERVICE  21 

shrapnel  one  after  the  other  over  it,  and  it 
was  most  interesting  to  see  the  flash  in  the 
sky,  then  a  white  cotton-wool  effect  — 
and  finally  the  sound  of  explosion.    The 

French  behind  A immediately  opened 

fire  and  the  music  began.  It  lasted  about 
an  hour,  but  as  none  of  our  men  were 
wounded  we  did  not  have  to  go  up  there. 
After  dinner  three  of  us  went  for  a  little 
walk  along  the  Moselle.  One  can  see 
the  Germans  about  a  thousand  metres 
away  on  the  hills,  and  as  you  walk  along 
the  banks  of  the  river  they  can  see  you 
distinctly,  but  they  don't  bother  to  fire, 
which  is  kind  of  them !  We  sat  down  and 
watched  two  soldiers  fishing,  and  I  took 
a  photo  of  them,  as  I  thought  it  so  amus- 
ing for  people  to  fish  under  the  direct  and 
easy  rifle  shot  of  the  Boches.  We  then 
went  and  talked  to  a  lot  of  soldiers  about 
to  return  to  the  trenches.  They  are  all 
nice  to  us,  and  it  would  make  an  American 
proud  if  he  could  see  how  the  American 


22  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

boys  here  are  respected  and  loved.  One 
officer  was  very  indignant  because  those 
" dirty  Bodies"  had  actually  thrown  five 
shells  into  his  trench  yesterday!  As  he 
wandered  off  muttering,  "7  will  show 
them !  les  cochons  —  les  cochons  —  co- 
chons," rather  sleepily,  I  thought  —  I 
could  n't  help  remembering  the  Dormouse 
in  "Alice  in  Wonderland."  It  appeared 
that  at  the  particular  line  of  trenches 
where  he  was  they  had  agreed  only  to  fire 
at  each  other  with  rifles !  In  several  places 
here  the  trenches  are  only  fifteen  or  twenty 
metres  apart  and  the  French  and  Ger- 
mans are  on  quite  good  terms.  They  ex- 
change tobacco  for  wine  and  paper  for 
cigarettes  and  then  return  and  shoot  at 
each  other  quite  merrily.  About  Christ- 
mas or  February,  I  am  told,  by  soldiers 
who  were  then  here,  they  used  to  walk 
into  each  other's  trenches  and  exchange 
stories,  etc.,  but  now  they  have  become 
"mechant." 


DIEULOUARD 


FISHING   WITHIN   RIFLE-RANGE 
OF  THE  BOCHES 


FIELD  SERVICE  23 

I  am  feeling  pretty  sick   to-day  and 
rather  dread  to-night,  as  I  have  all-night 

duty  at  X .  I  am  not  at  all  well.    It 

is  the  hard  food  we  are  having,  I  sup- 
pose. Anyhow,  I  find  myself  nice  and 
thin  again,  so  your  shocking  example  of 
gaining  weight  last  spring  is  now  of  no 
influence.  "Doc"  comes  to-morrow  and 
I  will  give  him  this  letter  to  post,  as  it 
would  never  get  through  unless  posted  in 
Paris.  I  have  just  returned  from  Belle- 
ville where  I  took  three  couches  and  two 
assis.  One  of  the  couches  was  raving  and 
he  yelled  and  shrieked  the  whole  seven- 
teen kilometres.  It  was  horrible.  When  I 
arrived  at  Belleville,  where  they  are  put 
on  a  train  and  sent  to  a  Base  Hospital,  I 
found  that  in  his  agony  he  had  torn  off  his 
clothes  and  broken  the  hangers  of  the 
stretcher,  so  it  was  a  wonder  he  did  not 
completely  fall  on  the  two  men  below. 
Our  cars  are  packed  like  this  — 


24  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 


&* 


i     l    i  [v 


^ja=*» 


I  do  not  know  what  could  be  worse 
than  having  a  poor  peaceful  peasant  who, 
—  forced  to  fight  and  after  perhaps 
months  of  agonizing  trench  life  —  badly 
wounded,  shrieks  with  pain  and  misery  as 
you  try  to  avoid  the  many  bad  bumps  in 
the  road. 

We  expect  a  big  attack  to-day  and  we 

have  evacuated  all  the  X hospitals. 

It  looks,  too,  as  if  they  were  preparing  for 
many  wounded. 

Any  kind  of  news  will  be  greatly  appre- 
ciated. If  you  do  not  hear  very  regularly 
from  me,  remember  it  will  be  because 
work  is  too  heavy. 


FIELD  SERVICE  25 

Thursday. 

"Doc"  has  not  yet  arrived  (he  was  ex- 
pected Tuesday),  so  I  am  afraid  you 
won't  have  heard  from  me  this  week,  as  he 
will  miss  the  mail.  I  am  sitting  at  the  win- 
dow of  my  bedroom  with  the  sun  stream- 
ing through  on  the  table  and  can  imagine 
myself  at  "Beauport,"  or  the  bungalow  — 
but  every  three  or  four  minutes,  boom! 
and  then  bang  I  —  boom !  —  the  Germans 
firing  on  Montauville  and  the  French  re- 
plying. As  I  sit  here  I  can  see  the  smoke 
rising  from  the  village,  and  I  wonder  if 
either  of  our  ambulances  which  are  on 
duty  there  have  been  hurt.  "Doc"  may 
come  to-night,  and  if  he  does  so  I  shall 

make  him  come   to  X to-morrow, 

as  it  is  my  day's  duty  there  and  he 
will  have  some  excitement.  On  my  right 
I  can  see,  about  a  thousand  metres  away, 
the  German  trenches.  It  is  strange  to  sit 
at  a  window  and  be  in  such  a  position,  and 


26  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

yet  be  writing  a  letter  as  though  we  were 
all  together  again  in  Gloucester.  I  have 
been  very  sick,  but  to-day  I  am  better 
again  and  am  very  grateful  for  my  recov- 
ery. Yesterday  I  discovered  that  the 
main  backspring  of  my  car  was  broken 
and  I  had  to  replace  it.  Imagine  me  on  my 
back  all  day,  working  like  a  madman  to 
get  the  job  done  in  time  for  duty  last 
night.  I  managed  it  all  right,  however, 
and  so  feel  myself  quite  a  mechanic.  My 
old  bus  has  a  horrid  habit  of  running  for- 
ward when  I  crank  it.  I  think  I  have  more 
dread  of  cranking  my  car  than  of  a  German 
"  obus."  Last  night  I  went  into  the  Square 
to  see  the  civilians  leave.  There  are  not  a 
great  many  left,  but  the  women  are  a  nui- 
sance —  morally  —  and  so  the  Governor 
is  turning  them  out  as  quickly  as  he  can. 
Alas,  that  they  could  not  have  done  their 
part  better !  It  was  a  sad  sight  —  many, 
many  tears  —  and  some  hysterics !  The 
Governor,  a  splendid  old  Colonel,  came  up 


FIELD  SERVICE  27 

and  talked  with  us  (there  were  four  of  us), 
and  was  eager  to  hear  when  America  was 
to  join  the  Allies.  He  quite  spoils  us  all, 
and  anything  we  want  he  sees  we  have  if  it 
is  possible.  Last  night  it  was  amusing  to 
see  his  indignation  when  he  learned  that 
we  were  paid,  as  ordinary  "poilus"  (a  fa- 
miliar term  of  endearment  referring  to  the 
unshaven  men  in  the  trenches),  a  sou  a 
day  (we  don't  draw  the  pay!).  He  gal- 
lantly declared  that  we  should  all  rank  as 
sub-lieutenants  and  should  be  compen- 
sated as  such,  for  he  added,  "You  brave 
boys  do  as  much  as  any  soldier  at  the 
front  and  take  as  much  risk."  I  like  the 
French  gallantry  and  sincerity.  One  meets 
it  everywhere.  The  officers  all  salute  us 
and  the  poilus  all  cheer,  smile,  and  "vive 
l'Amerique,"  etc.,  and  I  feel  that  the  work 
of  the  Section  is  real.  I  have  rarely  met 
a  happier  lot  of  fellows  and  all  so  good- 
natured  and  generous.  You  never  hear  a 
hard  word.    All  work  for  the  good  cause, 


28 


AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 


and  as  efficiency  is  unity  we  try  to  be  effi- 
cient. I  wish  you  could  see  this  dear  old 
garrison  town  with  its  poplars  and  bridge 
and  church  and  the  lazy  Moselle  slowly 
creeping  along  to  quieter  and  happier 
places.  Here  and  there  are  fallen  houses  — 
and  often  gaps  in  the  walls  —  and  torn- 
up  trees.  The  house  next  to  us  has  been 
hit  and  looks  like  this  — 


with  piles  of  stone  and  brick  all  over  the 
road.  I  always  try  to  talk  with  the  sol- 
diers (my  French  is  improving,  but  still 
rotten)  and  I  find  they  have  become  fatal- 
ists.   Some  of  the  regiments  here  have 


FIELD  SERVICE  29 

been  filled  up  several  times  and  I  hear 
that  thirty -five  thousand  French  have 
been  killed  in  the  Bois-le-Pretre.  Every 
day  great  shells  or  hand  grenades  fall  into 
the  trenches  and  many  a  poor  peasant  or 
higher  caste  of  Frenchman  is  called  away. 
I  took  three  wounded  to  the  hospital  this 

morning  from  X after  they  had  only 

been  in  the  trenches  twenty  minutes, 
having  come  straight  from  the  Home 
Base.  They  talked  so  hopelessly  about 
their  chance  of  life. 

An  old  chap  asked  me  yesterday  if  I 
would  like  a  German  rifle.  "Well,  rather," 
said  I.  He  promised  he  would  bring  it 
to  me  at  seven  o'clock,  unless  an  "obus" 
hit  him.  He  did  not  come,  poor  fellow, 
but  perhaps  he  forgot  his  promise.  I 
hope  so. 

Pont-a-Motjsson,  June  25th. 

You  will  not  have  received  any  mail 
from  me  this  week,  and  I  am  very  sorry  if 


30  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

I  have  caused  you  any  anxiety.  "Doc" 
said  he  would  be  here  last  Tuesday,  and 
to  our  surprise  he  has  not  even  arrived 
yet.  I  am  a  little  anxious  about  him  and 
so  tried  to  send  him  a  wire  to  ask  if  he  is 
well.  As  yet  I  have  received  no  answer. 
The  three  letters  I  have  written  could 
never  possibly  reach  you  from  here,  as  we 
are  only  allowed  to  write  little  open  letters 
or  postals,  so  I  shall  wait  until  he  comes 
before  I  send  them.  The  last  few  days 
have  been  quiet,  but  for  me  full  of  interest 
and  hard  work.  I  am  better,  but  my  ill- 
ness of  the  three  days  has  pulled  me  down 
a  lot  and  the  food  is  not  good  enough  to 
allow  me  to  pick  up  strength  quickly. 

I  have  had  many  long  talks  with  sol- 
diers and  they  tell  me  most  interesting 
stories.  One  told  me  that  he  got  on  such 
friendly  terms  with  the  Germans  in  a 
trench  ten  metres  away  that  he  asked 
them  all  to  put  their  heads  above  the 
trench  so  as  to  take  their  photos,  and  I 


FIELD  SERVICE  31 

have  been  promised  a  copy.  Also  that 
they  promised  to  tell  each  other  when 
they  meant  to  attack  or  blow  up  a  trench. 
The  mining  of  the  trenches  is  the  most 
horrible  method  of  warfare  existing,  I 
think.  There  seems  so  little  chance  —  in 
fact,  none.  The  worst  implement  of  de- 
struction for  the  trench-livers  is  the  new 
kind  of  projectile  called  a  "torpille,"  a 
sort  of  torpedo.  It  is  fired  from  about 
four  hundred  metres  and  is  noiseless,  very 
large  and  terribly  destructive.  Nearly  all 
of  the  poor  fellows  we  take  to  the  hospi- 
tal have  been  '"saute" by  a  mine  or  hit  by 
a  torpille.  The  French  have  developed  a 
projectile  of  the  same  sort,  and  neither  side 
has  had  them  more  than  six  weeks.  It 
has  a  kind  of  tail  to  its  head  (see  sketch) 
and  is  shot  from  a  sort  of  small  gun.  Of 
course  they  shoot  big  shells  of  say  "210" 
or  "280"  into  the  trenches,  and  so  mar- 
velous is  the  accuracy  of  firing  that  they 
explode  often  on  the  floor  of  the  trench. 


FIELD  SERVICE  33 

A  shell,  however,  one  can  hear  coming. 
The  whistle  is  very  plain,  and  you  have 
perhaps  one  second  or  two  to  hide.  The 
torpille  gives  no  warning,  is  just  as  large, 
and,  therefore,  very  deadly. 

Yesterday  I  visited  the  trenches.  I 
left  here  at  four  o'clock  in  the  morning 
and  started  up  the  hill  through  a  little 
village,  rather  like  what  the  French  call 
me,  "Booseville,"  which  has  been  much 
bombarded,  and  then  climbed  up  past  dis- 
used trenches  until  we  came  to  a  sentry 
who  directed  us  up  to  the  company  where 
a  friend  had  promised  to  meet  me.  At 
last  I  found  him  and  we  started  for  the 
"premier  ligne."  I  felt  a  little  nervous 
and  anxious,  as  I  did  not  care  to  get 
killed  sight-seeing.  My  friend  pointed 
out  some  bushes  to  me,  and  I  had  not 
noticed  what  he  said,  when  on  passing 
within  a  foot  of  another  bush  I  found 
myself  looking  into  the  muzzle  of  a  "75" 
gun.     For    some    distance    every    inch 


34  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE1 

seemed  full  of  great  guns  and  little  guns, 
all  so  cleverly  hidden  that  it  would  seem 
impossible  to  know  they  were  there.  At 
last  we  came  to  a  hill  and  were  told  by  a 
sentry  that  we  could  not  pass  that  way 
(for  some  reason  or  other — perhaps  the 
position  of  a  battery  had  just  been 
changed),  and  we  had  either  to  go  straight 
back  or  right  across  a  field  three  hundred 
yards  wide  in  full  view  of  the  Germans, 
three  hundred  and  fifty  metres  away. 
Said  my  friend,  "Oh,  I  think  they  are 
eating  now;  let's  risk  it.  They  never  fire 
while  food  is  about."  So  somewhat 
against  human  nature  I  assented,  and  we 
slowly  trudged  across  the  open.  I  con- 
fess I  was  relieved  when  we  reached  the 
shady  wood.  Still  mounting  up,  we  passed 
hundreds  and  hundreds  of  blue-coated 
soldiers  returning  from  their  night  vigil 
in  the  trenches,  and  then  the  noise  and 
chatter  of  men  and  birds  seemed  to  die 
away  and  I  could  hear  little  else  but  the 


FIELD  SERVICE  35 

crack  of  some  twig  one  of  us  walked  on, 
or  the  occasional  bang  of  a  rifle.  This 
deadly  silence  —  it  was  really  quite  awe- 
inspiring  —  continued  as  we  passed  silent 
groups  of  soldiers  sipping  coffee,  tea,  or 
soup.  Then  we  took  three  or  four  steps 
down  and  henceforth  walked  in  trenches, 
—  winding,  curving,  zigzag  we  went,  no 
trench  being  more  than  five  metres 
straight. 

/.  a,  3.  *. 


TV4H   WAY*    OF  3<»i-T»X<t    TREWtfXAS 

The  soldiers  silently  smiled,  one  heard 
whispered  "Americains."  I  saluted  an 
officer,  who  smiled  in  return  and  showed 
me  his  room.  Really  it  was  quite  comfort- 
able. At  last  we  came  to  a  trench  where 
every  metre  soldiers  stood  looking  and 
waiting.  It  was  the  thin  blue  line  that 
guards  France's  frontier  for  four  hundred 


36  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

kilometres.  The  Germans  are  not  pressing 
or  attacking  this  particular  place  at  pres- 
ent, and  so  the  whole  trench  is  so  wonder- 
fully neat  and  so  clean  and  so  uniform  and 
almost  comfortable,  one  began  to  wonder 
whether  it  was  only  a  side  show  in  some 
exhibition.  We  walked  very  quietly  along 
this  trench  for  some  two  kilometres,  and  I 
suddenly  discovered  that  in  my  interest  I 
had  allowed  but  forty -five  minutes  to  get 
home  if  I  was  to  be  in  time  for  duty  at 
seven,  so  I  made  a  hasty  retreat  and  ar- 
rived back  at  barracks  just  in  time. 

Monday,  the  28th. 

Yesterday  we  heard  from  "Doc,"  who 
wired  to  say  that  he  would  arrive  at  ten 
o'clock  Sunday  night.  I  have  just  seen 
him  and  he  looked  splendidly.  I  soon  re- 
tired to  my  room  to  read  the  mail  which  he 

brought:  Letters  from  you  and  H 

being  the  only  American  ones.  Last  night 
I  was  on  duty  all  night  at  X ,  and 


FIELD  SERVICE  37 

it  was  a  great  strain  riding  backward 
and  forward  in  pitch  darkness  up  and 
down  the  very  steep  and  narrow  road.  I 
had  to  go  to  Auberge  St.  Pierre  at  about 
two  o'clock  this  morning.  This  road  is  in 
full  view  of  the  Germans  and  much  bom- 
barded, and  shrapnel  burst  close  by, 
which  reminded  me  that  a  lovely  moon- 
light night  with  trees  and  hills  and  val- 
leys dimly  shaping  themselves  can  be 
other  than  romantic. 

It  was  a  sad  trip  for  me  —  a  boy  about 
nineteen  had  been  hit  in  the  chest  and 
half  his  side  had  gone,  —  "tres  presse" 
they  told  me,  —  and  as  we  lifted  him  into 
the  car,  by  a  little  brick  house  which  was 
a  mass  of  shell  holes,  he  raised  his  sad, 
tired  eyes  to  mine  and  tried  a  brave  smile. 
I  went  down  the  hill  as  carefully  as  I  could 
and  very  slowly,  but  when  I  arrived  at 
the  hospital  I  found  I  had  been  driving 
a  hearse  and  not  an  ambulance.  It  made 
me  feel  very  badly  —  the  memory  of  that 


38  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

faint  smile  which  was  to  prove  the  last 
effort  of  some  dearly  loved  youth.  All  the 
poor  fellows  look  at  us  with  the  same  ex- 
pression of  appreciation  and  thanks;  and 
when  they  are  unloaded  it  is  a  common 
thing  to  see  a  soldier,  probably  suffering 
the  pain  of  the  damned,  make  an  effort 
to  take  the  hand  of  the  American  helper. 
I  tell  you  tears  are  pretty  near  sometimes. 
I  send  you  some  photos  taken  by  a  little 
camera  I  bought,  as  my  large  one  is  too 
big.  All  my  love  to  you  and  to  those  who 
make  the  memory  of  America  so  dear  to 
me. 

Pont-a-Mousson,  July  2d. 

I  have  just  written  you  a  short  letter, 
but  as  "Doc"  was  not  here  to  take  it  and 
mail  it  from  Paris,  I  could  write  nothing 
of  interest  in  it,  therefore  follows  this  long 
detailed  one  for  him  to  post  for  me  when 
he  comes.  Since  my  last  to  you  he  returned 
to  Paris  after  being  here  two  days.    He 


FIELD  SERVICE  39 

looks  very  well,  indeed,  and  amuses  us  by- 
pretending  he  does  not  see  any  excitement 
here. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  whenever  he  comes, 
we  do  seem  to  have  a  lull  in  the  fighting  — 
why,  I  don't  know  —  but  one  of  these 
days  he  will  arrive  when  something  ex- 
citing is  going  on.  Up  to  the  day  before 
yesterday,  one  day  seemed  very  much 
like  another  —  continual  explosions  of 
shells —  "departs  et  arrives"  —  collecting 
wounded,  etc. ;  but  last  Thursday  ("  Doc  " 
left  on  Wednesday)  we  had  forty-eight 
hours  of  truly  hard  time.    I  was  on  day 

service  at  X a  little  village,  as  I 

told  you,  about  one  and  one  half  kilos 
away,  of  one  street  about  two  hundred 
metres  long  and  one  church.  I  got  up  there 
at  seven  thirty,  and,  after  taking  two  or 
three  trips  with  wounded  to  Dieulouard, 
was  returning  to  lunch  at  eleven  o'clock, 
when  an  urgent  call  took  me  to  Auberge 
St.  Pierre  —  a  little  poste  de  secour  on  the 


40  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

top  of  the  hill  past  Montauville.  I  also 
wrote  you  about  Auberge  St.  Pierre  in  my 
last  letter  —  to  get  there  you  have  to  go 
on  an  uphill  road  within  uncomfortable 
range  of  both  German  and  French  fire. 

On  this  trip,  as  my  little  car  climbed 
along  up  the  hill,  I  saw  shells  bursting  on 
both  sides  of  the  road,  and  I  do  not  hesi- 
tate to  say  that  my  feelings  were  strained 
as  I  entered  the  wood.  When  I  arrived  at 
my  destination  I  felt  a  bit  shaken,  but  the 
sight  of  some  eight  wounded  made  me  real- 
ize that  the  sooner  I  got  them  down  to 
safety  the  better  for  us  all.  So  back  I 
went  down  the  little  winding  road  to  the 
sound  of  shells  exploding  uncomfortably 
near  —  that  was  the  day's  start.  Later  the 
Germans  fired  fifteen  thousand  shells  into 
the  Bois-le-Pretre;  the  noise  was  terrific 
—  almost  the  whole  of  our  first  line  of 
trenches  was  plowed  up  and  our  cars  had 
to  run  all  night.  About  six  o'clock  I  went 
back  to  dinner,  but  no  sooner  had  I  ar- 


FIELD  SERVICE  41 

rived  than  a  call  took  three  of  us  back 

to  X and  I  had  another  trip  with 

wounded.  I  chatted  with  the  "medecin 
chef"  —  a  fine-looking  man  —  and  he  told 
me  he  would  give  me  some  photos.  My  car 
was  standing  outside  his  little  poste  de  se- 
cour,  and  he  asked  me  a  few  questions 
about  Fords  in  general,  while  the  wounded 
were  being  put  into  my  car.  On  the  way 
down,  several  shells  fell  all  around  the  road 
and  I  was  glad  to  get  back  to  the  Bureau. 
Next  morning,  Friday,  we  learned  at 
breakfast  that  the  Germans  had  sent  over 
a  hundred  shells  into  the  little  village 

of  X (one  street,  only  about  three 

hundred  metres  long,  remember !)  and  that 
there  was  urgent  need  for  our  men  there. 
I  went  up  on  foot  with  Schroeder  in  the 
afternoon  (I  was  off  duty)  and  learned 
that  my  friend  the  medecin  chef  had  been 
blown  to  pieces  by  a  shell  which  landed 
exactly  where  my  car  had  stood  the  night 
before.  The  poor  little  village  looked  very 


42  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

sad,  for  although  a  hundred  "  210's  "  would 
not  utterly  destroy  a  village,  one  of  them 
makes  a  house  look  stupid  after  it  has 
been  hit.  We  had  been  asked  to  go  and 
see  the  French  "155's"  firing,  and  on  in- 
quiring whether  it  would  be  safe  to  go  — 
a  smile  and  an  answer  to  the  effect  that 
shells  were  dropping  eight  at  a  time  all 
around  the  battery  sent  the  three  of  us 
back  to  Pont-a-Mousson. 

Saturday. 

The  bombardment  going  on  now  is  ter- 
rific —  I  have  been  standing  about  a 
hundred  yards  from  my  little  house  and 
looked  across  the  valley  on  Montauville 
—  Bois-le-Pretre  —  and  watched  the  shells 
exploding  by  the  dozens. 

Monday,  July  5th. 

I  was  called  away  suddenly  —  an  emer- 
gency —  and  this  is  the  first  moment  I 
have  had  to  myself  since.    I  doubt  if  I 


FIELD  SERVICE  43 

shall  ever  forget  the  last  thirty-six  hours 
—  they  have  been  so  full  of  work,  appre- 
hension, and  horror. 

Tuesday,  5  p.m. 

I  must  write  down  the  events  of  the  last 
three  days,  for  I  suppose  they  have  been 
the  most  tremendous  ones  I  have  experi- 
enced. I  tried  to  write  yesterday,  but 
only  got  as  far  as  those  three  lines,  and 
any  moment  I  may  be  called  for  "an  at- 
tack" which  we  expect  hourly.  Let  me 
see  —  I  must  go  back  to  Sunday  —  the 
Fourth  of  July.  We  had  arranged  a  grand 
fete  and  the  Governor,  the  Colonel,  and 
the  Major  wrere  our  guests  with  three 
other  Captains  from  various  regiments. 
An  elaborate  meal  was  prepared  and  all 
was  decorated  —  a  piano,  a  stage,  and 
many  flowers,  etc.  The  feast  was  to  start 
at  seven  o'clock,  and  nearly  every  soldier 
in  all  of  the  regiments  round  here  knew 
it  was  the  American  Fete  Day.   Suddenly 


44  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

at  about  two  o'clock  commenced  a  tre- 
mendous artillery  duel  —  the  whole  earth 
seemed  to  tremble  and  the  noise  of  rifle 
fire  almost  drowned  the  explosions  of 
shells  —  the  Germans  had  attacked ! 

For  some  days  most  of  the  French 
batteries  had  been  leaving  here  for  up 
north  where  a  large  army  is  concentrating, 
and  the  Germans  (who  know  everything) 
attacked  us  at  the  most  unfortunate 
moment  —  and  by  so  doing  won  back  in 
that  short  attack  much  of  the  land  they 
had  lost  since  December,  the  winning  of 
which  has  caused  France  the  loss  of  over 
forty  thousand  men !  We  all  rushed  to  our 
cars  to  be  ready  for  the  call,  and  about 
six   o'clock    every    car   was    ordered    to 

X —  poor     little    village     already 

badly  enough  damaged  by  the  bombard- 
ment of  a  few  hours  before!  We  worked 
late  and  I  got  to  bed  at  three -thirty,  having 
carried  some  fifty  wounded  a  distance  of 
about   ten   kilometres  —  ten  trips  —  two 


DECORATIONS   FOR   "THE  4TH 
AT   HEADQUARTERS 


FIELD  SERVICE  45 

hundred  kilometres!    In  all  we  carried 
away  over  three  hundred  and  fifty  crip- 
pled wrecks  who  three  hours  before  were 
the  pride  of  their  nation  and  families ! 
Monday,  of   course,  was  a  hard  day's 

work,  for  I  was  on  X service  all  night 

(i.e.,  two  cars  stay  always  in  X all 

night  for  service).  I  took  four  long  trips 
in  the  afternoon  and  about  five  o'clock 
managed  to  get  an  hour's  sleep,  and  it 

was  lucky  I  did.    X was  quiet  when 

I  got  up  there  about  seven  o'clock,  and 
till  nine  o'clock  I  chatted  to  soldiers  and 
then  turned  into  the  telephone  office  to 
sleep  on  my  stretcher  (fully  dressed)  until 
I  should  be  called.  At  one  o'clock  I  woke 
up  to  the  sound  of  what  might  have  been 
an  earthquake  —  the  Germans  had  at- 
tacked again  and  wTere  bombarding  X . 

We  went  down  into  a  little  "dugout" 
where  we  stood  listening  with  strained 
faces  for  thirty-five  minutes  to  the  shout- 
ing of  soldiers,  the  cracking  of  rifles,  and 


46  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

the  terrific  reports  of  French  "departs" 
and  German  " arrives.' '  Literally  the 
whole  place  trembled,  and  when  a  shell, 
probably  a  "210,"  arrived  in  the  village 
it  always  seemed  to  us,  poor  rats,  that  it 
had  exploded  in  the  room  above  us.  No 
sooner  had  the  attack  stopped  than  a 
phone  message  came  through,  "Can  an 
ambulance  come  immediately  to  Auberge 
St.  Pierre?" — and  of  course  I  climbed 
out  of  the  cellar,  wound  up  my  car,  and 
drove  up  the  hill.  The  old  car  (which  was 
in  the  battle  of  the  Marne)  seemed  to 
know  it  was  on  a  pretty  dangerous  trip 
and  it  went  like  a  bird.  Any  unpleasant 
shocks  of  bursting  shells,  etc.,  I  may  have 
received  on  my  way  up  were  quickly 
compensated  for  by  the  greeting  of  the 
Major:  —  "I  wish  to  thank  you  and  to 
congratulate  you  on  the  quickness  and 
efficiency  with  which  you  and  your  com- 
rades execute  their  orders!"  I  took  four 
more  trips  and  at  twelve  o'clock  returned 


FIELD  SERVICE  47 

to   X and   thought  I   would  get   a 

little  rest.  I  was  just  talking  with  the 
phone  operator  when  we  saw  a  flash  — 
and  an  explosion  in  the  courtyard !  After 
picking  ourselves  up  from  the  floor  where 
we  had  thrown  ourselves,  we  hastily  re- 
turned to  the  dugout.  For  three  quarters 
of  an  hour  the  second  attack  went  on,  and 
in  this  dugout,  some  three  hundred  yards 
from  the  German  trenches,  the  noise  was 
terrific,  and  I  wondered  whether  I  was  to 
be  a  corpse,  a  German  prisoner,  or  still  a 
* '  Conducteur  Ambulance  Americaine ' ' ! 
When  the  attack  and  bombardment 
ceased,  work  began,  and  a  general  call  was 
sent  to  our  Bureau,  and  before  long,  as  I 
descended  the  hill  to  Pont-a-Mousson 
with  the  first  carload  of  mutilated,  I 
passed  our  fellows  tooting  up  the  hill  full 
speed.  We  worked  until  six  o'clock  carry- 
ing down  a  hundred  and  eighty  or  more 
wounded  and  then  the  cars  returned  to 
headquarters,  as  I  could  manage  the  few 


48  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

remaining  blesses.    About  seven  o'clock 

—  tired  out  —  I  made  a  last  trip  to  Au- 
berge  St.  Pierre,  and  finding  no  wounded 
there,  descended  to  the  next  poste  de  se- 
cour,  Clos-Bois,  and  asked  if  they  had  any 
wounded  —  "No  —  none."  "But  surely 
there  was  a  couche  on  the  stretcher 
there?"  "Come  and  see: — he  is,  we 
fear,  not  suitable  for  your  ambulance."  I 
went  up  and  lifted  the  covering  from  his 
head  and  all  I  saw  was  a  headless  trunk! 

—  "Our  dearly  loved  Lieutenant,"  said 
one  of  the  soldiers,  and  his  voice  was  not 
a  steady  one  —  nor  were  my  thoughts 
peaceful  as  I  went  home  to  cafe-au-lait 
and  some  sleep.  At  four  o'clock  on  Tues- 
day I  woke  up  with  orders  to  evacuate 
the  Pont-a-Mousson  Hospital  (to  Belle- 
ville). I  turned  in  about  two  o'clock  next 
afternoon  to  sleep  again,  pretty  tired. 

Wednesday  came  the  counter-attack. 
I  must  now  tell  you  what  we  have  authen- 
tically  learned.    On   Sunday,   July  4th, 


FIELD  SERVICE  49 

the  Germans  made  such  a  successful  at- 
tack in  Quart-en-Reserve  and  La  Croix-des- 
Carmes  (positions  of  the  Bois-le-Pretre) 
with  petrol  and  gas,  hand  grenades,  mines, 
torpedoes,  "320  V  "210  V  and  "155  V 
"105's,"  and  "77's"  that  the  French 
lost  much  that  they  had  gained  in  the 
last  six  months :  that  they  had  been  taken 
unawares,  and  that  we  must  have  every- 
thing ready  to  leave  Pont-a-Mousson  at 
a  moment's  notice !  Next  came  the  news 
that  Monday,  Tuesday,  and  Wednesday 
attacks  had  been  so  successful  for  the 
French  that  they  had  regained  all  they 
had  lost  on  Sunday  !  ! 

Wednesday  was  a  very  exciting  day  for 
me,  and  I  had  my  nearest  escape.  We 
were  evacuating  Pont-a-Mousson  Hospital 
for  Belleville  (we  had  not  finished  this  on 
Tuesday)  and  I  had  three  couches  and 
three  assis  in  my  car.  A  captain  was  seated 
next  to  me,  wounded  in  the  knee.  As  I 
neared  Dieulouard  I  heard  sounds  of  shells 


50  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

exploding,  and  as  I  reached  the  outskirts 
of  the  town  I  saw  a  "210"  land  in  the 
railway  station  some  hundred  yards  to 
the  right  of  the  main  road.  I  asked  the 
Captain  if  he  thought  it  better  to  wait 
till  the  bombardment  was  over,  and  he 
replied,  "I  must  leave  this  to  your  judg- 
ment, as  we  are  in  your  car";  so  I  de- 
cided that  as  the  shells  generally  fall  at 
regular  intervals  of  three,  five,  or  seven 
minutes  (the  Germans  are  so  methodical 
that  when  you  know  the  time  they  are 
firing  you  can  know  to  the  second  when 
the  next  shell  will  arrive),  I  would  go  on. 
This  time,  however,  more  than  one  bat- 
tery was  shelling  Dieulouard,  and  as  I  was 
passing  a  house  on  the  road,  it  was  hit  by 
a  shell.  All  was  black  dust  and  smoke  and 
I  had  perforce  to  pull  up  a  minute  —  two 
people  in  the  house  were  killed,  and  al- 
though my  car  was  covered  with  brick- 
dust  and  debris  no  one  was  even  bruised ! 
I  don't  want  to  come  any  nearer,  however. 


PONT-A-MOUSSON   HOUSE   HIT   BY   A    "210' 


FIELD  SERVICE  51 

I  carried  over  forty  wounded  yesterday  a 
distance  of  a  hundred  and  sixty  kilos  and 
at  nine  o'clock  turned  in  to  sleep,  to  be 
waked  up  at  two  o'clock  to  go  to  Auberge 
St.  Pierre.  Schroeder  and  I  both  went,  as 
they  had  some  fourteen  wounded  and  it 
was  necessary  to  have  two  cars.  It  was  a 
glorious  morning,  and  when  I  got  to  the  top 
of  the  hill  all  was  quiet  and  God's  peace 
seemed  to  be  everywhere.  The  Major  was 
there  to  receive  us,  and  so  interested  and 
appreciative  is  he  that  any  one  of  us  would 
do  anything  for  him.  Just  as  I  was  start- 
ing down  with  a  full  load  I  found  I  had 
picked  up  a  nail  and  a  puncture  was  the  or- 
der of  the  day.  Two  fellows  ran  forward, 
and  explaining  that  they  were  chauffeurs 
in  peace  time,  refused  to  let  me  work  on 
it,  and  the  Major  made  me  sit  on  a  fallen 
tree  by  the  roadside  and  smoke  a  cigarette 
and  talk  to  him.  We  are,  of  course,  mere 
soldiers,  but  to  be  treated  so  kindly  and  so 
thoughtfully  makes  us  feel  that  we  must 


52  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

go  on  forever!  The  Major  said,  "You 
have  no  idea  what  comfort  and  reassur- 
ance your  cars  and  your  work  give  to 
these  French  soldiers!"  I  made  one  more 
trip  to  Clos-Bois,  where  they  gave  me  some 
coffee  and  I  paid  my  respects  to  the  bodies 
of  three  officers  just  killed  in  the  trenches. 
I  had  a  German  wounded  couche  given 
me  and  I  probed  out  the  fact  that  there 
were  some  six  or  eight  French  waiting 
to  be  taken.  "Oh,  but  he  is  seriously 
wounded  —  take  him  first!"  When  I  ar- 
rived at  the  hospital,  I  watched  the  Ger- 
man prepared  for  operation.  He  had 
seven  bullet  wounds  in  the  shoulder,  five 
still  remaining,  three  in  the  leg,  and  both 
arms  broken!  I  picked  up  his  overcoat, 
and  I  noticed  that  the  top  button  was 
pierced  by  a  bullet,  so  I  cut  it  off  and  kept 
it  as  a  remembrance  —  a  gruesome  one, 
but  I  shall  always  remember  that  in 
France  the  German  went  before  the  less 
wounded  Frenchman! 


FIELD  SERVICE  53 

Thursday,  If.  p.  m. 

An  attack  is  now  going  on  and  I  sup- 
pose about  seven  o'clock  there  will  be  a 
general  call  to  X . 

Sunday. 

My  prophecy  about  an  attack  was  cor- 
rect. Now  there  is  a  lull  again  and  I  have 
some  moments  to  myself  to  write  about 
the  last  three  days.  Ever  since  Sunday, 
July  4th,  there  has  been  an  attack  and 
counter-attack,  and  life  has  been  real  hell 
for  those  poor  fellows  in  the  first  line  of 
trenches.  Every  imaginable  kind  of  in- 
strument of  destruction  has  been  hurled 
on  them,  mines  (the  narrow  part  fits  into 
the  gun  which  is  a  sort  of  mortar  —  radius 
about  four  hundred  metres),  torpedoes 
(radius  about  four  hundred  metres) 
"MOV  "250V  "220's,"  down  to 
"77's,"   burning   petrol,   chlorine1  —  all 

1  The  Italians,  I  believe,  fire  their  mortars  by  com- 
pressed air  shipped  in  tanks  to  the  trenches.  The  direct 


54  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

this  not  in  dozens,  but  in  thousands  and 
tons.  No  one  can  believe  what  it  is  like 
there;  it  is  indescribable,  and  the  Ger- 
mans are  getting  the  same  thing  too.    I 


suppose  the  French  have  lost  over  twenty- 
five  hundred  this  week  in  wounded  and 
killed  and  many  prisoners  —  and  this  over 
a  line  of  seven  kilometres!  And  the  Ger- 
mans? Many  more!  Day  and  night  our 
Section  has  gone  backward  and  forward, 

reading  on  a  pressure  gauge  gives  the  range  the  mine 
will  be  hurled,  and  the  system  should  be  very  prac- 
ticable. 


FIELD  SERVICE  55 

full  of  wounded  and  dying,  and  we  are  all 
feeling  pretty  done  up.  Yesterday  they 
bombarded  Pont-a-Mousson  and  hit  a 
church  which  burnt  all  day,  and  killed 
some  people  —  but  there  are  not  many 
left  here  now  and  hardly  any  soldiers. 

Last  night  (as  after  every  attack)  we 
eagerly  asked  how  the  fight  had  gone  — 
here  we  had  gained  a  trench  —  there  we 
had  gained  two  trenches  —  here  we  had 
not  won  or  lost  —  but  always  the  same 
remark,  "But  the  dead  and  wounded!" 
At  any  rate,  the  Germans  are  held  and  our 
many  reinforcements  have  made  the  posi- 
tion fairly  safe. 

On  Friday  I  again  took  down  a  German 
wounded  —  this  time  a  German  of  the 
Kaiser's  or  Crown  Prince's  Bodyguard 
(the  German  Crown  Prince  is  against  us 
here).  He  was  dying.  Picture  to  your- 
self a  fine,  truly  magnificent  man,  — 
over  six  feet  four  —  wonderful  strength, 
—  with  a  hole  through  both  lungs.    He 


56  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

could  not  speak,  and  when  I  got  to  the 
hospital,  I  asked  in  German  if  he  wanted 
anything.  He  just  looked  at  me  and 
then  chokingly  murmured,  "  Catholic. "  I 
asked  a  soldier  to  fetch  the  priest  and 
then  two  brancardiers  (stretcher-bearers) 
and  the  doctor  —  the  priest  and  I  knelt 
down  as  he  was  given  extreme  unction. 
That  is  a  little  picture  I  shall  never  forget 

—  all  race  hatred  was  forgotten.  Roman- 
ist and  Anglican,  we  were  in  that  hour 
just  all  Catholics  and  a  French  priest  was 
officiating  for  a  dying  German  —  a  Boche 

—  the  race  that  has  made  Europe  a  living 
hell.  I  came  back  about  seven  o'clock  at 
night  to  the  hospital  with  more  wounded 
and  asked  if  he  still  lived.  "Yes;  would  I 
care  to  see  him?  "  I  went  in  and  although 
he  breathed  his  last  within  an  hour  after, 
his  look  showed  recognition,  and  that  man 
died,  I  am  sure,  with  no  hatred  for  France. 

I  could  tell  you  a  multitude  of  stories  — 
stories  so  horrible  I  cannot  forget,  so  pa- 


As 

f¥ 

BURNING  CHURCH   AT  PONT-A-MOUSSON 
STRUCK   BY    INCENDIARY   SHELL 


MONTAUVILLE 


FIELD  SERVICE  57 

thetic  that  tears  are  not  rarely  in  my  eyes. 
On  Friday  night,  I  was  on  Montauville 
duty  —  and  a  new  regiment  arrived  — 
"Bon  camarade"  to  me  at  once  — 
1 '  How  many  wounded  ?  "  etc . ,  —  they 
asked.  I  could  not  tell  them  that  they 
were  going  to  a  place  where  between  their 
trench  and  the  German  trench  were  hun- 
dreds of  mangled  forms,  once  their  fellow- 
citizens,  —  arms,  legs,  heads,  scattered 
disjointedly  everywhere;  and  where  all 
night  and  all  day  every  fiendish  implement 
of  murder  falls  by  the  hundred  —  into 
their  trenches  or  on  to  those  ghastly 
forms,  —  some  half  rotted,  some  newly 
dead,  some  still  warm,  some  semi-alive, 
stranded  between  foe  and  friend,  —  and 
hurls  them  yards  into  the  air  to  fall  again 
with  a  splash  of  dust,  as  a  rock  falls  into  a 
lake.  All  this  is  not  exaggerated.  It  is  the 
hideous  truth,  which  thousands  of  men 
here  have  to  witness  day  and  night. 
Saturday  night  they  came  back,  some 


58  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

of  those  poor  fellows  I  spoke  a  cheery  word 
to  on  Friday  —  no  arms  —  no  hands  — 
no  feet  —  one  leg  —  no  face  —  no  eye  — 
One  glorious  fellow  I  took  had  his  hand 
off,  and  although  it  was  a  long  trying 
drive  to  Dieulouard  he  never  uttered  a 
word.  I  touched  his  forehead  when  I  ar- 
rived and  whispered,  "Bon  courage,  mon 
brave!"  He  looked  at  me  a  moment  and 
answered,  "Would  God  he  had  taken  my 
life,  my  friend." 

To-day  I  went  to  take  three  wounded 
officers  to  Toul,  some  thirty  kilometres 
away,  and  before  starting  I  went  into  the 
hospital  to  see  if  I  could  do  anything  for 
any  of  those  butchered  by  "civilization." 
I  saw  a  friend  —  the  man  who  had  offered 
me  a  German  bayonet.  He  beckoned  me 
with  his  eyes  and  then  —  "Have  they  for- 
gotten me?  I  have  been  here  for  five  hours 
and  both  my  legs  are  shattered."  It  was 
true  that  every  bed  was  full  of  wounded 
waiting  to  be  dressed,  but  I  went  straight 


FIELD  SERVICE  59 

up  to  the  medecin  chef  and  told  him  that 
a  friend  was  over  there  with  both  legs 
broken  and  could  he  be  attended  to?  "Ah, 
we  have  been  looking  after  the  others 
first,  as  he  must  die,  but  I  will  do  what  I 
can."  I  stood  there  and  watched  his  two 
legs  put  into  a  position  that  looked  hu- 
man, and  then  I  bade  adieux  to  a  new- 
found friend.  I  think  I  am  glad  he  will 
die.  I  would  prefer  to  die  than  to  be  crip- 
pled for  life,  and  if  my  turn  comes  I  only 
hope  I  may  not  recover  to  be  helpless. 

It  is  no  good  trying  to  make  you  under- 
stand what  horror  really  is  —  you  must 
see  a  bit  of  it  as  we  see  it  here  to  be  able 
to  semi-realize  what  that  place,  the  Bois- 
le-Pretre,  is  like.  It  was  known  by  the 
Germans  when  held  by  them  as  "  Hexen- 
kessel  "  (witches'  cauldron)  and  as  "  Wit- 
tenwalden  "  (widows' wood). 

I  wish  you  would  cut  out  and  keep  for 
me  anything  mentioned  in  the  official  re- 
ports about  the   Bois-le-Pretre,  Pont-a- 


60  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

Mousson,  Quart-en-Reserve  (probably  the 
most  mutilated,  unthinkable  place  in  the 
world),  La  Croix-des-Carmes,  etc. 

Monday. 

I  have  just  received  the  mail  with  lots 
of  nice  letters.  It  was  so  jolly  hearing 
from  you  all.  I  am  glad  to  tell  you  that 
this  Section  is  to  be  mentioned  by  Order 
of  the  Army,  and  it  will  probably  receive 
the  Croix-de-Guerre,  which  our  Section 
Commander  will  wear,  of  course  —  we 
may  all  get  some  sort  of  medal  some  time 
as  well,  perhaps.  If  my  letter  seems  too 
horrible,  just  don't  send  it  on  to  the 
friends  who  might  otherwise  care  to  hear. 
My  only  object  in  writing  so  fully  is  that 
I  do  want  you  all  to  realize  the  futility, 
the  utter  damnable  wickedness  and  butch- 
ery of  this  war. 

P.S.  The  Governor  of  the  department 
of  Lorraine  sent  from  Nancy  the  following 
tribute :  — 


FIELD  SERVICE  61 

"On  this  day,  when  you  celebrate  your 
national  independence,  at  the  same  hour 
that  France  in  violent  combat  defends  her 
independence  against  an  enemy  whose 
madness  for  domination  threatens  the 
liberty  of  all  nations,  and  whose  barbar- 
ous methods  menace  civilization,  I  ad- 
dress to  you  the  expression  of  the  pro- 
found friendship  of  the  French  for  your 
great  and  generous  nation,  and  take  this 
occasion  to  offer  new  assurance  of  the  in- 
tense gratitude  of  the  population  of  Lor- 
raine for  the  admirable  devotion  of  all  the 
members  of  the  American  Ambulance  of 
Pont-a-Mousson . ' ' 

Pont-a-Mousson,  July  16th. 

It  so  happened  that  a  wounded  officer 
was  going  to  Paris  and  he  posted  the  let- 
ters of  July  2d  to  you  for  me,  and  there- 
fore you  got  them  two  weeks  earlier.  Now 
"Doc"  has  suddenly  returned  on  his  way 
to  Pagny  and  I  am  writing   about   the 


62  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

last  few  days.  They  have  been  full  of 
misery  and  yet  full  of  pleasure.  The  14th 
of  July,  the  day  of  the  fall  of  the  Bastille, 
was  to  be  a  fete  day  for  France  as  usual, 
but  I  little  thought  I  should  spend  such  a 
wonderful  day  myself.  Schroeder  and  I 
were  invited  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  batteries 
above  one  of  our  postes  de  secour,  and 
as   we  were  both  off  duty,  about  three 

o'clock  we  went  up  to  B in  one  of  our 

service  cars  and  thence  walked  to  see  our 
friends.  If  any  one  doubts  what  grateful 
friends  and  how  appreciative  the  soldiers 
are  for  our  little  help  here,  they  should 
have  seen  the  welcome  we  were  given. 
We  were  shown  the  "soixante  quinzes," 
the  "220's,"  the  "  155  V  and  you  must 
realize  by  that  how  completely  we  for- 
eigners are  trusted;  for  could  the  Ger- 
mans but  know  where  these  guns  are,  few 
of  our  friends  would  live  to  see  France  win 
the  war.  Next  we  were  shown  all  over  the 
"abris"  (little  dugouts  about  ten  to  four- 


FIELD  SERVICE 


63 


teen  feet  underground  and  covered  with 
three  or  four  layers  of  good-sized  trunks  1 
like  this) .    These  they  retire  to  when  the 

!§l2oQDI31, 


Boches  bombard  the  wood.  All  along  the 
paths  leading  from  one  big  gun  to  an- 
other were  shells,  two  or  three  hundred 
great  things  about  three  feet,  eight  inches 
high.  We  then  went  and  had  some  beer 
with  our  friends,  all  non-commissioned 
officers,  and  about  four  o'clock  a  corporal 
came  to  say  that  the  "155  V  were  going 

1  These  temporary  defenses  have  stood  out  against 
shells  for  weeks,  while  permanent  works  were  leveled 
in  a  few  days  at  Liege,  Maubeuge,  and  Antwerp.  High- 
explosive  shells  by  the  thousands  are  the  only  answer 
to  field  works. 


64  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

to  fire  four  rounds  and  would  we  care  to 
go  and  watch,  as  the  officer  invited  us? 
Of  course  we  followed  our  guide  to  the 
gun  and  they  all  posed  while  I  took  a 
photo!  Then  the  officer  asked  me  if  I 
would  care  to  photo  the  gun  being  fired 
and  I  said  yes.  I  stood  some  ten  metres 
away,  and  had  just  pressed  the  button  of 
the  camera  when  I  jumped  half  out  of  my 
skin  at  the  noise  of  the  explosion.  I  shall 
anxiously  look  for  the  negatives  and  I 
hope  they  will  be  good.  It  was  now  five 
o'clock  and  we  had  to  return  to  Pont-a- 
Mousson.  Would  we  stay  to  dinner  — 
the  14th  July?  —  What!  Spend  France's 
fete  day  with  France's  artillery  in  a  wood 
some  two  kilos  from  the  Germans  —  sur- 
rounded by  the  guns  that  were  fighting 
for  her  liberty?  It  sounded  too  good!  Of 
course  we  accepted;  so  five  of  us,  three 
French  artillerymen  and  Schroeder  and 

I,  walked  down  to  get  to  B on  the 

road  our  ambulances  travel  all  day  long. 


FIELD  SERVICE  65 

We  were  all  in  one  line  across  the  road 
when  without  warning  —  bang!  —  thirty 
metres  away  earth  was  thrown  yards  into 
the  air.  The  noise  was  terrific  —  and  then 
the  black  dense  smoke  began  almost  lazily 
to  fade  away.  We  all  five  stood  still  — 
semi-crouching,  although  inwardly  know- 
ing that  all  precautions  were  then  futile, 

—  that  if  we  were  to  be  killed  by  the 
eclats  of  that  explosion  we  could  not  es- 
cape: it  was  too  late.  After  five  or  ten 
seconds  we  breathed  again,  and  I  looked  at 
my  companions.  Three  of  them  had  been 
firing  heavy  shells  for  eleven  months,  but 
their  sunburnt  faces  had  assumed  the 
most  haggard,  pale  expression  I  have  ever 
seen.  I  had  no  looking-glass,  but  I  expect 
if  Schroeder  writes  his  experiences  to  his 
people  he  will  include  my  face  as  being 
like  the  rest.  Had  we  been  twenty  yards 
farther  on  —  or  thirty  yards  farther  back 

—  finis !  The  eclats  of  a  German  shell  al- 
ways go  like  this  — 


66 


AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 


but  the  French  like  this  l  — 


ipmk 


/   - 


1  This  effect  may  be  due  to  the  fact  that  the  Ger- 
man shells  have  percussion  fuses  whose  action  is  less 


FIELD  SERVICE  67 

The  strain  made  me  give  a  little  laugh 
which  froze  pretty  quickly  on  my  lips, 
for  I  was  silenced  with  a  look  —  "At- 
tends!—  listen  for  the  next  depart"  — 
ten  anxious  ears  listened,  but  it  was  just  a 
chance  German  shell  and  no  more  arrived. 
When  we  returned  to  go  to  dinner  about 
an  hour  and  a  half  later,  I  asked  them  to 
help  me  to  find  the  fuse,  and  there  it  was 
still  hot.  I  shall  keep  it  in  memory  of 
July  14th,  1915.  We  sat  down  in  that 
little  wooden  shelter,  about  sixteen  of  us, 
and  I  cannot  tell  you  what  a  happy  party 
we  were.  Laughter  and  song  feting  the 
two  honored  guests,  the  "Americains." 
The  Captain  heard  we  were  dining  with 
his  non-commissioned  officers  and  sent  up 

rapid  than  that  of  the  French  shells.  This  would  allow 
them  to  penetrate  the  target  or  ground  before  detona- 
tion, and  would  give  them  the  geyser  effect  sketched. 
In  the  French  shells,  with  less  delay  action  in  the  fuse, 
the  explosion  would  take  place  more  immediately  on 
impact,  giving  a  more  lateral  burst  effect.  Of  course 
the  delay  in  the  fuses  is  easily  varied  by  the  gunners. 


68  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

three  bottles  of  white  wine  to  drink  the 
health  of  the  Allies.  We  had  brought  some 
Moselle  as  a  present  to  our  hosts,  and 
when  the  others  were  finished  our  bottles 
were  a  great  surprise.  They  were  quickly 
emptied,  a  candle  was  stuck  in  each  and 
we  started  singing  and  telling  stories. 
Then,  as  an  act  of  courtesy,  I  was  asked 
to  sing  our  national  hymn.  I  got  up  (a 
bottle  of  wine  was  fetched  to  fill  our 
glasses)  and  did  so  as  loud  and  as  heartily 
as  I  knew  how.  It  must  have  been  a 
strange  sight  for  the  casually  passing 
French  soldiers,  to  see  their  sixteen  com- 
patriots standing  silently  —  listening  to  a 
man  sing  a  song  that  they  scarcely  knew, 
though  one  which  means  so  much  to  so 
many  thousands  of  our  countrymen.  I  had 
but  finished,  when  bang!  bang!  bang!  bang! 
—  four  "75's"  fired  over  our  heads  — 
going  to  kill  those  who  should  sing  another 
national  anthem.  The  "Marseillaise" 
followed  and  I  have  never  heard  it  sung 


FIELD  SERVICE  69 

in  surroundings  more  fitting  or  more  im- 
pressive. Then  an  artillery  duel  started, 
and  backward  and  forward  above  us  went 
and  whistled  the  shells.  Five  of  our 
friends  suddenly  left  us,  and  in  three  min- 
utes we  heard  the  big  "220"  firing  its 
death-gift  into  the  German  trenches.  All 
the  time  the  songs  continued,  and  those 
woods  must  have  echoed  and  reechoed 
with  the  strains  of  the  "Marseillaise," 
etc.  Schroeder  and  I,  however,  began  to 
get  anxious,  for  the  noise  of  the  artillery 
increased  and  increased,  and  we  knew 
that  in  about  two  hours  all  the  ambu- 
lances would  be  needed  at  X ,  so  we 

bade  our  friends  good-bye  and  arrived 
home  to  find  that  only  half  of  our  cars 
would  be  required.  We  then  turned  in  to 
bed  with  the  conviction  that  we  had  really 
experienced  the  true  feeling  of  France  on 
the  anniversary  of  the  great  step  toward 
what  she  believed  would  be  for  the  free- 
dom of  the  people. 


70  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

"Doc"  had  arrived  unexpectedly  from 
Paris  and  your  letters  were  very  welcome, 

also  one  from  mother  and  Mrs.  A . 

It  was  the  very  night,  14th  July,  that 
you  were  giving  your  lecture.  I  am  sure 
it  was  a  success. 

July  15th. 

"Doc"  and  I  spent  the  day  together. 
It  was  my  duty  day  in  Montauville;  and 
although  it  poured  I  enjoyed  it  very  much. 
All  we  did  and  saw  I  shall  leave  to  him  to 
tell  you  about,  so,  good-night.  God  bless 
you  all. 

Pont-a-Mousson,  July  &£,  1915. 

When  I  last  wrote  you  I  little  thought 
my  next  letter  would  follow  such  a  tragedy 
as  occurred  on  Thursday  the  22d.  It  is 
now  two  days  ago,  so  in  the  comparative 
calm  of  perspective,  I  must  try  to  tell  you 
the  whole  story  from  beginning  to  end. 
Thursday  morning,  Schroeder  and  I  went 


FIELD  SERVICE  71 

to  visit  the  hospital  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Moselle,  and  there  we  were  received  by 
the  Sister  Superior,  who  personally  showed 
us  all  over  the  building.  The  corridors  are 
now  used  as  wards,  as  every  room  but  one 
in  the  large  old  convent  has  been  hit  by  a 
shell.  We  got  back  to  lunch  about  twelve 
o'clock,  and  Mignot,  our  indefatigable 
friend  in  the  position  of  general  servant, 
upbraided  us  for  our  unpunctuality,  etc. 
We  had  hardly  finished  lunch  when  a  shell 
burst  some  twenty  metres  away  and  we 
hurriedly  took  to  the  cellar,  while  eleven 
more  shells  exploded  all  around  our  head- 
quarters, or  "caserne,"  as  we  call  it.  We 
then  went  for  a  round  of  inspection  and 
found  that  the  twelve  shells  had  all  fallen 
on  our  side  of  the  road  and  were  all  within 
forty  or  fifty  metres  of  us.  This  made  us 
feel  pretty  sure  that  the  shells  were  meant 
for  us  or  for  our  motors.  Schroeder  and  I 
discussed  the  matter,  and  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  we  did  not  like  the  situa- 


72  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

tion  very  much,  and  that  if  the  Germans 
sent  perhaps  six  shells,  all  at  once,  we 
should  many  of  us  get  caught.  I  was  very 
tired,  and  at  about  one-thirty  went  to 
sleep  and  slept  until  five-thirty,  when  I 
went  to  dinner  at  the  caserne.  The  even- 
ing meal  over,  an  argument  started  about 
the  merits  of  a  periodical  called  "Le  Mot" 
(do  you  know  it  ?)  —  a  kind  of  futurist 
paper.  After  a  rapid-fire  commentary 
from  one  and  then  another  of  us  which 
continued  until  about  eight-thirty,  Schroe- 
der  and  I  decided  to  go  to  our  rooms  to 
bed.  We  were  walking  home  when  I  re- 
minded him  that  he  had  been  asked  to  tell 
four  of  our  fellows  who  slept  in  a  house 
near  by  to  be  sure  that  no  light  could  be 
seen  through  the  shutters;  so  turning 
back,  we  rapped  on  the  window  and  heard 
merry  laughter  and  were  greeted  with  a 
cheery  invitation  to  join  the  nine  who 
had  gathered  inside.  It  seems  one  of 
them,  who  had  been  on  duty  at  Montau- 


FIELD  SERVICE  73 

ville,  had  managed  to  get  some  fresh  bread 
and  butter  and  jam,  and  they  were  cele- 
brating the  event!  We  had  to  decline 
their  friendly  hospitality,  however,  as  we 
wanted  to  get  some  sleep.  I  had  just  got 
my  boots  off  when  —  whish-sh-sh  —  bang  ! 
bang !  bang !  bang !  —  four  huge  shells 
burst  a  little  way  down  the  road  toward 
our  caserne.  Thirty  seconds  after  came 
two  more  —  five  minutes  later  six  more  — ■ 
and  then  we  heard  a  screaming  woman 
ejaculating  hysterically,  "C'est  les  Ameri- 
cams."  Schroeder  and  I  looked  at  each 
other  without  speaking.  We  hurriedly 
dressed  and  started  to  run  to  the  caserne 
—  women  and  soldiers  shouting  to  us 
to  stay  where  we  were;  but  rushing  on 
through  the  fog,  smoke,  and  dust,  we 
reached  headquarters.  There  we  found 
the  rest  of  the  Section  in  the  cellar,  and 
hurriedly  going  over  those  present,  real- 
ized that  two  were  absent  —  Mignot,  and 
the  mechanic  of  the  French  officer  at- 


74  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

tached  to  us.    Out  we  ran,  shouting  "Mi- 

gnot !  Mignot ! "  From  the  dust  and  smoke 

there   staggered   some  one   we    did    not 

know,  blood  flowing  from  head,  legs,  and 

arms  —  "  Au  secours !    Au  secours ! "  —  it 

was  the  mechanic.  Leaving  him  with  the 

Section  to  be  dressed,  we  rushed  madly 

through    the    fog-bound    street    crying, 

"Mignot!    Mignot !"    Then  suddenly  — 

across   the   road  —  a   shadow  —  a   dark 

spot  on  the  ground  —  two  women  quite 

dead,  a  boy  dying,  a  man  badly  wounded 

and  —  farther   on  —  a   still,   blue   form. 

"Quick,  old  man,  listen  —  his  heart!"   It 

was  he  —  Mignot  —  and  dead.  Our  loyal 

and  devoted  servant  who  was  almost  the 

living  incarnation  of  Kipling's  Gunga  Din. 

We  rushed  back  to  get  stretchers  and  a 

car.    Ogilvie  got  his  car  and  we  got  our 

stretchers  out  to  take  away  the  blesses. 

There  were  a  fewT  of  us  grouped  about  — 

some  seven  or  eight  —  and  a  car  —  with 

the  wounded  just  put  on  stretchers,  when 


FIELD  SERVICE  75 

—  "Lookout!"  Bang!  Bang!  Bang! — ■ 
three  more  shells. 

We  had  already  thrown  ourselves  on  the 
ground,  and  then,  finding  we  were  still 
alive,  feverishly  loaded  the  car.  "Good 
God!  I've  stalled  it,"  said  the  driver  — ■ 
then  the  cranking  —  would  it  never  start 

—  try  again  —  thank  Heaven,  it  was  off! 
Hardly  thirty  seconds  after,  whish-sh  — - 
bang  !  bang !  two  more  came.  We  retired 
to  a  cellar  for  a  few  minutes,  as  the  three 
dead  could  stay  there  while  it  was  so  ter- 
ribly dangerous.  At  last  we  emerged  and 
were  about  to  lift  Mignot's  body  when 
both  arms  moved.  Was  he  alive,  after 
all?  No!  it  was  only  the  electric  wires  he 
was  lying  on  that  had  stimulated  his 
muscles.  The  car  turned  the  corner  with 
the  three  dead  and  we  ran  back  to  the  ca- 
serne. There  we  found  the  rest  of  our 
Section  very  shaken,  indeed.  A  shell  had 
burst  just  outside  of  the  house  where 
the  nine  were  making  merry  and  the  vio- 


76  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

lence  of  the  impact  had  hurled  all  of 
them  to  the  ground.  Two  feet  nearer 
and  the  whole  lot  would  have  been  killed. 
Sehroeder  and  I  decided  we  had  better  go 
back  to  bed,  and  we  insisted  that  Ogilvie 
(who  lived  in  the  house  so  nearly  de- 
stroyed) should  come  with  us.  We  made 
him  a  sort  of  a  bed  on  the  floor  and  turned 
in.  As  the  light  went  out,  a  strange  silence 
crept  over  us  three,  and  I  am  sure  that  I 
was  not  the  only  one  who  was  offering  a 
silent  prayer  —  for  the  wife  and  children 
of  our  devoted  friend  Mignot,  and  of  grat- 
itude for  our  miraculous  escape  from 
death. 

I  must  have  dozed  off  when  I  was  awak- 
ened by  the  whole  house  shaking  and  six 
more  terrific  explosions  followed  —  and 
then  still  six  more!  Should  we  go  out 
again?  No;  all  the  rest  were  certainly  in 
cellars  and  out  of  danger. 

About  two  o'clock  a  tremendous  at- 
tack woke  us  up,  and  for  an  hour  the 


s  a 


■S   £? 


CO 


S  S3 

•3   £  £ 


3    ri    W> 


£  M 


s  ?§  a 


FIELD  SERVICE  77 

whole  place  shook  and  reechoed  with  the 
sound  of  artillery,  hand  grenade,  and  rifle 
fire.  We  stayed  awake,  expecting  a  call, 
but  none  came  till  five  o'clock,  when  we 
were  told  that  the  "medecin  division- 
naire  "  had  ordered  us  to  leave  Pont-a- 
Mousson  immediately.  We  dressed  and 
packed  and  got  around  to  the  caserne  to 
find  that  nearly  every  one  had  already  left 
and  that  all  thought  Ogilvie  dead.  ' '  Why  ?" 
we  asked.  His  house  had  been  completely 
destroyed,  —  even  a  "  280  "  shell  had  burst 
in  the  cellar  itself.  Two  shells  had  burst  in 
our  caserne  and  all  around  was  wreckage 
and  mess.  I  got  some  coffee  at  a  little 
cafe,  and  being  on  Montauville  duty  went 
up  there,  a  sad  and  depressed  being. 

That  afternoon,  about  one  o'clock,  a 
shell  burst   right  in  the  middle    of  the 

street   at    X —  killing   one    soldier 

and  badly  wounding  four  more.  I  was 
not  far  away.  I  took  them  to  the  hospital 
at  Dieulouard,  where  I  found  the  rest  of 


78  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

the  Section  getting  themselves  installed 
in  their  new  quarters. 

In  the  evening  we  went,  at  eight 
o'clock,  to  poor  Mignot's  funeral.  Sad 
and  horribly  gruesome  it  was.  Imagine  a 
little  chapel  with  four  coffins  in  front  of 
a  small  altar  —  one  of  them  with  many 
flowers,  and  of  oak  —  Mignot's  —  the 
other  three  just  pine  wood  —  the  ordinary 
wrar  coffin.  The  Governor  came,  and  I 
shall  not  forget  the  dim  scene  —  the  priest 
who  intoned  the  Latin  burial  service  out 
of  tune,  and  the  "choir"  consisting  of  one 
man  who  sang  badly  and  as  loud  as  he 
could,  and  a  congregation  of  silent  mourn- 
ers. Every  note,  every  word,  as  it  re- 
echoed through  the  chapel,  seemed  like  the 
cry  of  despair  of  France  —  a  small  but 
pitiful  note  of  the  anguish  of  this  country. 
Over  at  last,  the  coffins  were  shuffled  out 
of  the  little  chapel,  and  we  were  allowed  to 
follow  them  to  the  bridge  to  St.  Martin, 
where  they  were  buried  in  a  cemetery  con- 


FIELD  SERVICE  79 

stantly  upheaved  by  German  shells.  Hor- 
rible !  horrible !  horrible !  — that  is  all  I  can 
write. 

There  had  not  yet  been  time  to  find 
rooms  in  Dieulouard,  and  I  was  asked  if  I 
minded  sleeping  in  Pont-a-Mousson.  "  No, 
not  a  bit!"  So  I  spent  last  night  there 
alone,  and  perhaps  for  the  last  time  —  in 
our  little  room,  Schroeder's  and  mine,  of 
which  I  once  sent  you  a  photo.  He  was  at 
X on  night  duty. 

This  morning  I  am  sitting  in  that  room 
at  the  window  writing  this  —  all 's  quiet 
—  the  sky,  cloudless  and  blue  —  birds 
are  singing  —  the  red  roses  in  the  garden 
blossom  in  the  sun,  and  the  peace  of 
Heaven  is  really  on  earth  around  me. 
Then  comes  the  memory  of  Thursday 
night;  a  vision  of  another  world. 

"Doc"  will  probably  arrive  here  to- 
day, as  we  had  to  wire  him  at  once,  and  so 
you  may  get  this  letter  next  mail. 


80  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

Pont-a-Mousson,  July  26,  1915. 

Since  Friday,  things  have  been  topsy- 
turvy. Our  Section  leader  was  away  "en 
repos"  and  Glover,  who  is  in  charge  in 
his  absence,  naturally  feeling  responsible 
for  the  safe-keeping  of  our  many  ambu- 
lances in  this  division  of  the  army,  thought 
best  to  evacuate  Pont-a-Mousson.  Of 
course  the  point  of  virtue  in  the  idea  was 
to  avoid  the  possible  loss  of  some  of  our 
men  as  well  as  cars  —  which  would  be  a 
tragedy  for  the  French  wounded.  But  our 
Section  is  here  to  give  its  best  service  and 
I  can't  help  feeling  that  it  is  better  not 
to  lower  the  standard  of  work  and  effi- 
ciency by  retiring  to .    Perhaps  I  have 

rather  forcibly  expressed  this  idea,  but  a 
number  of  the  men  here  are  of  the  same 
opinion.  I  sleep  at  Pont-a-Mousson  as 
usual,  and  of  course  Schroeder  does  too, 
and  now  three  others  also.  I  want  to 
point  out  that  the  moral  effect  of  seeing 


FIELD  SERVICE  81 

us  about  this  place  is  very  great  on  the 
soldiers  encamped  here,  and  if  you  could 
have  heard  their  condolences  and  seen 
the  look  of  pleasure  on  their  faces  when 
Schroeder  and  I  walked  down  the  street 
last  night,  you  would  realize  that  what 
little  extra  risk  it  involves  is  negligible, 
compared  to  its  beneficial  effect.  How- 
ever, when  Salisbury  returns,  we  may 
have  to  leave,  for  good,  dear  old  Pont- 
a-Mousson.  I  suppose  you  saw  in  the 
official  French  report  of  the  29th  that 
we  had  been  shelled  —  it  meant  something 
to  you  then,  I  am  sure  —  but  you  little 
realized  that  it  was  our  little  group  of 
ambulances  they  were  hammering  at. 

Our  whole  Section  has  been  cited  by 
Order  of  the  Division,  and  last  night  the 
official  wording,  etc.,  was  sent  to  us.  It  is 
really  a  very  great  compliment  and  I  am 
so  pleased  —  I  expect  Salisbury  will  get 
decorated  as  head  of  the  Section.  Here  is 
a  translation  of  it:  — 


82  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

"American  Ambulance  Automobile, 
Section  A.Y.,  composed  of  volunteers, 
friends  of  our  country,  has  been  contin- 
ually conspicuous  for  the  enthusiasm, 
courage,  and  zeal  of  all  its  members,  who, 
regardless  of  danger,  have  worked  without 
rest  to  save  our  wounded,  whose  affection 
and  gratitude  they  have  gained." 

Poor  Mignot  —  life  at  Pont-a-Mousson 
will  be  very  different  without  him;  and 
our  mechanic,  who  was  wounded,  is,  I  now 
hear,  to  have  his  left  arm  amputated.1 
What  a  real  tragedy  the  22d  was  for  us! 

The  more  we  think  about  the  evening, 
and  as  further  details  come  to  light,  the 
more  we  marvel  that  we  were  not  all 
killed.  It  is  strange,  too,  how  those  who 
one  felt  would  behave  well  —  did  —  and 
I  am  proud  of  my  friends  in  the  Section. 

P.S.  We  hear  that  a  German  captain,  a 
prisoner  in  Paris,  said  that  if  any  Ameri- 
can ambulance  man  was  captured  pris- 

1  He  died  soon  after. 


FIELD  SERVICE  83 

oner  he  would  be  shot !  Nice  lot  of  people ! 
are  n't  they? 

July  29, 1915. 

I  had  a  very  interesting  day  yesterday; 
as  you  will  have  seen  by  official  reports, 
the  Germans  presented  us  again  with 
some  twenty  to  thirty  big  shells  on  Mon- 
day night,  and  although  I  was  at  Pont-a- 
Mousson,  I  was  in  a  good  cellar!  About 
three  people  were  killed,  but  one  woman 
was  wounded,  just  down  the  road,  and  the 
doctor  and  I  had  to  run  out  and  bring  her 
in.  We  were  sufficiently  excited  not  to 
think  of  more  shells,  and  as  she  could  run 
too  —  and  did  so  with  a  vengeance  —  it 
was  not  a  long  "promenade"! 

Yesterday,  I  went  with  Schroeder  to 
lunch  with  the  battery  who  had  enter- 
tained us  at  dinner  on  the  14th  July. 
They  had  moved  their  position  nearer  the 
Germans.  I  have  rarely  enjoyed  a  day 
more  —  the  sun  was  glorious  —  the  views 


84  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

perfect  —  and  the  woods  enchanting  — 
though  shells  bursting  in  the  air  took  the 
place  of  birds!  We  had  a  splendid  lunch, 
and  afterwards  went  out  and  visited  the 
numerous  guns  and  trenches.  I  took 
many  wonderful  photos  (cest  a  dire  they 
ought  to  be),  I  saw  about  five  different- 
sized  guns,  and  then  we  advanced  to  the 
trenches.  Finally  we  reached  the  first  line, 
where  silence  reigned  supreme  except  for 
the  occasional  bang  of  a  rifle  or  the  inter- 
mittent explosion  of  shells.  We  went  to 
an  advanced  post  (several  metres  in  front 
of  first  line),  and  there  carefully  looking 
through  a  hole  I  saw  the  German  trenches. 
I  then  expressed  a  wish  to  be  able  to  photo 
them,  and  I  was  shown  a  place  where  I 
could  stand  up  and  quickly  get  a  snap- 
shot. I  regretted  having  made  the  wish, 
but  I  saw  they  were  looking  at  me,  and  I 
did  n't  intend  showing  a  white  liver,  so  up 
I  jumped  and  took  two.  The  bullets  did 
not  whistle  all  around  me,  as  I  suppose  I 


3    P 


FIELD  SERVICE  85 

ought  to  write,  and  although  I  was  suc- 
cessful in  taking  the  picture  I  do  not  in- 
tend to  try  the  game  again. 

In  fact,  I  have  now  seen  all  the  trench 
life  I  want  to  —  and  do  not  mean  to  visit 
them  further.  The  point  is  that  if  I 
should  be  killed  or  wounded  on  a  sight- 
seeing expedition  it  would  not  be  very- 
creditable,  and  we  run  quite  enough  risk 
when  on  duty. 

Strange  to  say,  I  felt  far  less  nervous 
in  the  first-line  trenches  than  when  on 
service  at  Pont-a-Mousson  or  Montau- 
ville  —  in  fact  I  felt  quite  a  sense  of  se- 
curity in  those  splendidly  built  trenches, 
while  in  a  town  the  shelling  is  so  much 
more  dangerous;  and  when  you  have  to  go 
out  into  it  sitting  on  that  little  Ford  jos- 
tling its  way  over  the  bumpy  road,  the 
sensation  is  not  a  very  comfortable  one. 
However,  as  I  told  you  before,  I  am  a 
fatalist  now  —  absolutely. 

We  made  our  way  slowly  home  to  Pont- 


86  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

a-Mousson  and  there  saw  shells  bursting 
over  a  little  town  in  the  valley  and  I  got 
a  photo  of  it.  I  am  tired,  so  good-night. 

July  30th. 

All  your  letters  from  July  4th  to  July 
15th  have  just  arrived,  and  also  a  very 
nice  one  from  Marconi.  It  was  a  great 
joy  to  me  to  know  of  your  success  and  of 
your  glorious  effort.  Things  are  gradually 
quieting  down  here,  but  we  have  had  a 
dreadful  time.  However,  I  am  glad  the 
work  we  are  doing  is  so  well  worth  the 
cost.  One  has  little  time  and  less  inclina- 
tion, in  the  presence  of  such  great  tragedy, 
to  consider  the  virtue  of  one's  personal 
service,  but  somehow  it  is  good  to  remem- 
ber that,  although  one  has  done  work  at 
the  front,  it  was  without  pay,  titles,  etc. 
—  I  acknowledge  that  I  look  forward  to 
October  when  I  plan  to  go  back  for  a  bit. 
I  shall  have  had  four  months'  service  at 
the  front,  without  a  rest,  and  although  I 


FIELD  SERVICE  87 

can,  I  hope,  keep  going  another  eight  or 
ten  weeks,  I  feel  that  without  some  res- 
pite the  winter  would  finish  me,  if  the 
Germans  omitted  to  do  so.  I  find  myself 
feeling  an  intense  —  though  futile  and 
unphilosophic  —  resentment  at  my  phys- 
ical condition:  the  not  being  able  to 
eat  enough  to  keep  always  at  top  speed 
—  and  of  course  one  can  never  allow 
even  a  shadow,  much  less  a  mention  of 
one's  own  problems  to  appear.  The  per- 
sonal equation  practically  does  n't  exist 
here. 

August  2d. 

Salisbury,  who  has  returned  to  us,  has 
supported  our  little  group,  who  objected 
to  the  evacuation  of  Pont-a-Mousson.  He 
found  us  a  very  fine,  suitable  house  (an 
aesthete  would  go  mad  in  it  —  German, 
and  bad  German  at  that),  and  we  were 
told  that  no  shell  had  fallen  near  it  for 
nine  months,  so  we  entered  with  confi- 


88  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

dence.  The  telephone  was  established, 
and  after  changing  the  furniture  about, 
altering  a  few  details,  and  (I  confess  it) 
bringing  in  a  few  flowers  from  the  garden, 
we  found  ourselves  almost  magnificently 
installed. 

Yesterday,  the  1st  of  August,  the 
French  violently  bombarded  a  town 
where  a  German  regiment  was  en  repos, 
and  when  I  arrived  at  Montauville  for  day 
duty  at  seven-thirty  yesterday  morning, 
I  was  told  that  all  the  towns  around  here 
were  expecting  a  bombardment  in  re- 
venge.   Needless  to  say,  it  was  correct. 

About  ten  o'clock  I  had  a  call  to  go 
to  Auberge  St.  Pierre  for  two  seriously 
wounded,  and  when  I  arrived  there,  the 
medecin  chef  told  me  that  if  I  got  them  to 
the  hospital  quickly,  they  would  have  a 
chance  of  living.  So  "No.  10"  tooted  off 
down  the  hill  —  at  what  the  plain  warrior 
would  term  —  "a  hell  of  a  pace."  As  I 
entered  Montauville  I  saw  no  one  about, 


FIELD  SERVICE  89 

but  as  I  passed  a  poste  de  secour,  a  doctor 
rushed  out  and  told  me  to  take  two  more 
if  I  had  room.  I  noticed  they  filled  my 
car  with  extraordinary  speed,  and  it  was 
not  necessary  to  tell  me  that  Montauville 
was  being  bombarded.  My  stretchers 
filled,  I  set  off  again  for  my  destination 
with  the  four  seriously  wounded.  I  de- 
cided to  take  a  different  road,  which  was 
quicker,  though  supposed  to  be  more  dan- 
gerous, and  two  big  shells  fell  on  the  road 
I  did  not  take  while  I  passed.  I  began  to 
think  myself  lucky. 

As  I  entered  Pont-a-Mousson,  I  saw  no 
one  about  (a  bad  sign),  and  on  turning 
to  go  to  Dieulouard  where  we  take  the 
wounded  I  saw  a  huge  shell  explode  two 
hundred  metres  down  the  road  I  was  to 
drive  along.  Had  the  ambulance  been 
empty,  or  with  only  slightly  wounded,  I 
should  have  waited,  of  course,  but  under 
the  circumstances  my  duty  was  to  go  on 
as  fast  as  I  could.  I  noticed  ahead  of  me 


90  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

three  large  motor-trucks  and  the  thought 
struck  me:  "What  if  those  are  hit  and 
contain  ammunition."  I  was  ten  yards 
away  when  —  bang !  —  I  was  half  blown 
out  of  my  seat  —  a  shell  had  landed  on 
the  motor-truck.  Hardly  believing  I  was 
not  hit,  I  increased  my  pace  and  emerged 
from  the  smoke  and  blackness,  going  at  a 
good  clip,  safe  and  sound,  but  shaken.  1 
deposited  my  wounded  and  started  to  re- 
turn, but  was  stopped  and  told  that  the 
road  was  not  passable  as  thirty  large 
<k210V  had  fallen  on  it  and  trees  were 
all  over  the  place.  I  forgot  to  mention  the 
truly  gruesome  part  of  the  tale  —  when 
I  arrived  at  Dieulouard,  I  noticed  that 
everybody  was  pointing  at  my  car.  I  sup- 
posed it  was  because  we  looked  so  smoke- 
grimed;  but  on  arrival  at  the  hospital, 
several  people  ran  out  to  me  with  curious 
expressions,  and  I  then  got  down  to  dis- 
cover what  was  troubling  them.  One  of 
the  poor  fellows  had  thrown  himself  off 


FIELD  SERVICE  91 

the  stretcher  and  all  of  his  bandages  had 
slipped  and  a  trail  of  red  was  flowing 
from  the  car  and  leaving  a  pool  on  the 
ground. 

I  got  back  to  our  Bureau  about  twelve 
o'clock  by  a  roundabout  way,  and  had 
lunch  and  went  up  about  twelve-thirty  to 
Montauville  again. 

While  at  lunch  the  shells  continued  to 
fall  at  fairly  regular  intervals  on  the  road. 
Suddenly  those  nearest  the  window  threw 
themselves  on  the  floor  (an  action  familiar 
to  us  constantly  under  shell  fire),  and  be- 
fore you  could  sneeze,  the  lot  of  us  did 
likewise,  and  we  heard  an  eclat  fly  over  the 
house.  Laughing,  we  got  up  —  we  were 
about  eight  hundred  metres  from  where 
the  shells  were  bursting  —  and  I  went  out 
into  the  street  to  see  where  the  eclat  had 
fallen.  There  it  was  on  the  road,  weighing 
about  three  and  a  half  pounds  —  it  was 
hot  to  the  touch — three  and  a  half  pounds 
thrown  eight  hundred  metres.     I  have 


92  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

kept  it  as  a  paper-weight  —  as  a  little 
luncheon  incident  it  is  entertaining. 

Nothing  of  great  interest  happened  dur- 
ing the  afternoon,  except  that  I  broke  my 
foot-brake  and  to-morrow  must  put  in  a 
new  one.  After  dinner,  being  off  duty,  I 
went  to  bed  about  eight  o'clock.  Schroe- 
der  left  yesterday  to  go  and  see  his  brother 
who  is  wounded  —  he  returns  in  about  a 
week.  Meanwhile,  I  am  alone  and  don't 
like  it.  At  one-thirty  o'clock  this  morning 
I  woke  up.  Something  was  wrong.  Bang  I 
Bang!  Bang!  Bang!  Pont-a-Mousson  be- 
ing bombarded,  and  badly  —  fifteen  shells 
falling  in  three  minutes,  I  counted,  and 
the  firing  continued  for  an  hour  and  a  half 
with  intervals. 

I  got  dressed  —  prepared  to  descend 
into  the  cellar  if  the  shells  came  too  near 
my  house,  and  then  about  six-fifteen  the 
bombardment  stopped.  I  left  the  house 
to  find  several  fires  started  around  the 
town  —  they  had  shelled  with  incendiary 


HOUSES  AT  PONT-A-MOUSSON 


FIELD  SERVICE  93 

shells  as  well  as  high  explosives.  As  I  got 
back  to  our  new  headquarters,  imagine 
my  surprise  to  find  a  huge  shell  hole  — 
two  yards  from  the  house  —  in  the  drive 
itself  —  the  house  never  bombarded  for 
nine  months.  All  the  fellows,  however, 
were  safe,  and  our  breakfast  was  a  jocular 
one,  for  we  could  not  help  seeing  the  funny 
side  of  it  all. 

August  3d. 

Just  a  few  more  lines,  as  one  of  our  Sec- 
tion is  returning  to  America  and  will  take 
these  letters  over,  and  you  should  get 
them  about  August  18th,  with  luck.  I  hope 
the  lecture  was  a  financial  success  besides 
a  personal  one!  If  all  those  people  in 
America  only  knew  what  this  Section  and 
our  work  mean  to  the  soldiers  here,  money 
would  not  be  long  in  coming.  No  one 
can  realize  what  our  little  group  does  for 
the  mutilated  wounded  —  but  if  any  one 
doubts  it,  I  wish  he  or  she  could  see  the 


94  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

grateful  thanks  in  the  eyes  of  the  wounded 
soldier  as  he  is  taken  from  our  ambulance 
and  put  into  a  fairly  comfortable  bed,  with 
doctors  ready  to  attend  him.  Let  him  see 
the  poor  soldier,  hardly  able  to  move,  in- 
sist on  taking  your  hand,  and  let  him  hear 
that  whispered  "Merci,  mon  camarade" 
—  let  him  talk  to  the  soldiers  newly  re- 
turned from  the  trenches  or  just  about  to 
enter  there  —  let  him  hear  that  smiling 
greeting  and  see  those  hands  waving, 
"Bon  jour,  camarade"  —  let  him  hear 
what  the  officers  say  —  then,  if  he  has  had 
any  doubts  he  could  have  them  no  longer. 
I  don't  claim  that  I  personally  am  doing 
anything,  but  I  do  say  that  this  Section  of 
twenty-five  men  has  done  more  to  cement 
the  love  for  America  with  the  troops 
around  here  than  any  possible  action  the 
U.S.A.  could  take  in  this  war,  and  I  believe 
that  the  same  fact  is  true  of  our  Service 
in  the  north  and  south  fronts.  Every  one 
should  realize  this,  and  I  hope  that  any 


FIELD  SERVICE  95 

of  my  friends  to  whom  you  read  this  letter 
will  bear  our  Field  Service  in  mind  if  they 
hear  of  any  one  wishing  to  be  truly  philan- 
thropic. The  hospital  itself  cannot  go  on 
indefinitely  supporting  us,  as  they  are  very 
short  of  funds,  and  have  a  great  under- 
taking on  hand  to  feed  and  keep  up  the 
Neuilly  and  Juilly  Hospitals  —  "Doc" 
tells  me  they  must  get  two  million  francs 
to  keep  things  going  till  next  spring.  Only 
a  small  portion  of  that  money,  of  course, 
could  come  to  our  Field  Service,  so  your 
effort  is  for  a  great  purpose.  I  must  tell 
you  what  happened  to  the  wounded  be- 
fore our  little  cars  came  here  —  we  carried 
over  eighteen  hundred  last  week  and  more 
than  seventy-five  hundred  during  July. 
They  were  picked  up  in  the  trenches 
(Bois-le-Pretre,  etc.)  when  they  could  be 
got  at  —  sometimes,  if  lucky,  an  hour 
after,  and  sometimes  five  or  six  hours  — 
or  never.  The  brancardiers  (chiefly  artists 
before  the  war!)  do  this  work  —  a  terrible 


96  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

job,  and  very,  very  dangerous,  as  the 
wounded  are  often  between  the  German 
and  French  trenches  and  they  have  to 
creep  out  at  night  and  drag  them  in.  Well, 
these  wounded  are  carried  on  brancards 
(stretchers)  down  the  hill  from  the 
trenches  —  probably  a  journey  of  some 
thirty  minutes  to  the  "refuge  des  blesses' ' 
(still  in  the  wood),  and  there  a  primitive 
dressing,  to  stop  bleeding,  is  put  on.  Then 
they  are  jostled  on  —  on  —  on  —  till  they 
arrive  at  one  of  the  postes  de  secour, 
where  our  light  little  cars  can  go  —  these 
are  at  Auberge  St.  Pierre,  Clos-Bois,  and 
Montauville.  Here  in  former  days  they 
were  re-dressed,  and  if  there  were  room, 
stayed  in  the  little  shelter,  or  if  not,  they 
had  to  lie  outside  till  a  horse-wagon  came 
to  fetch  them.  Sometimes  they  would 
have  to  wait  many  hours  before  their  turn 
came,  and  even  the  most  urgent  cases 
would  not  get  away  and  arrive  at  the  hos- 
pital for  a  long  time.   Hundreds  of  sol- 


FIELD  SERVICE  97 

diers  died  thus.  Now,  with  our  little  cars, 
an  urgent  case  is  at  the  hospital  ready 
for  operation  in  twenty  minutes  at  the 
most  and  generally  about  ten  to  fifteen 
—  no  matter  what  time  of  the  day  or 
night. 

That  is  why  these  soldiers  around  here 
are  so  grateful.  I  have  seen  cars  go  up  to 
Auberge  St.  Pierre  to  fetch  an  urgent  case 
when  the  driver  knew  the  road  was  being 
shelled,  and  the  soldiers  who  see  our  cars 
tooting  up  the  hill,  wonder  —  and  say, 
"Volontaires?" 

I  have  got  a  call  and  so  must  stop  — 
for  before  I  could  get  back  the  friend  who 
is  to  take  this  letter  would  doubtless  have 
had  to  leave. 

1%  hrs.  later. 

I  still  have  a  few  minutes,  so  I  will  con- 
tinue. As  you  know,  I  almost  never  re- 
read what  I  write,  but  I  have  run  over 
this  letter,  and  although  every  word  I  say 


98  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

is  accurate  and  unexaggerated,  I  don't 
want  you  to  imagine  that  the  French  Red 
Cross  is  not  efficient  —  but  they  cannot 
afford  cars  everywhere  with  drivers,  etc.; 
that  is  why  our  Section  here  is  so  useful. 
The  horror  of  the  whole  war  is  growing  on 
me  day  by  day,  and  sometimes  when  I 
have  got  into  my  bed  or  am  trying  to  get 
a  few  hours'  sleep  on  a  stretcher  (every 
other  night  I  am  on  duty  and  so  cannot 
undress),  the  horrors  of  blood  —  broken 
arms,  mutilated  trunks,  and  ripped-open 
faces,  etc.  —  haunt  me,  and  I  feel  I  can 
hardly  go  through  another  day  of  it.   But 
all  that  is  soon  forgotten  when  a  call  comes, 
and  you  see  those  bandaged  soldiers  wait- 
ing to  be  taken  to  a  hospital.    I  almost 
love  my  old  car  —  it  was  in  the  battle  of 
the  Marne  —  and  I  often  find  myself  talk- 
ing to  it  as  I  pick  my  way  in  pitch  darkness 
—  past  carriage  guns  or  reinforcements. 
If  one  does  not  quickly  become  an  expert 
driver,  one  would  have  no  car  to  drive,  for 


FIELD   SERVICE  99 

it  is  almost  impossible  to  see  five  yards 
ahead,  and  it  is  at  night  that  the  roads 
are  full  of  horse-carts  and  soldiers. 

August  6,  1915. 

I  was  delighted  to  see  "Doc"  to-day. 
He  arrived  yesterday  evening  from  Paris, 

but  I  was  on  M duty,  so  we  did  not 

meet  until  this  morning.  We  had  a  long 
talk  and  I  told  him  the  story  of  the  fatal 
22d;  the  recital  of  it  only  seems  to  have 
reimpressed  me  with  the  horror  of  that 
night. 

We  are  now  quite  comfortably  settled 
in  our  new  quarters,  a  house  never  shelled 
until  just  after  our  occupation  of  it,  when 
we  received  a  "  77  "  a  few  feet  from  our 
windows.  I  do  not  know  why  it  has  been 
spared  unless  the  Boches  were  anxious 
not  to  destroy  a  creation  so  obviously  their 
own.  Architecturally  it  is  incredible  — 
a  veritable  pastry  cook's  chef  d'ceuvre. 
Some  of  the  colors  within  are  so  vivid  that 


100  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

hours  of  darkness  cannot  drive  them  out 
of  vision.  There  is  no  piano,  but  musical 
surprises  abound.  Everything  you  touch 
or  move  promptly  plays  a  tune,  even  a 
stein  plays  "Deutschland  iiber  alles" — 
or  something.  Still  the  garden  full  of  fruit 
and  vegetables  will  make  up  for  the  rest. 
Over  the  brook  which  runs  through  it  is 
a  little  rustic  bridge  —  all  imitation  wood 
made  of  cast  iron !  Just  beneath  the  latter 
I  was  electrified  to  discover  a  very  open- 
mouthed  and  particularly  yellow  crockery 
frog  quite  eighteen  inches  long!  A  stone 
statue  of  a  dancing  boy  in  front  of  the 
house  was  too  much  for  us  all.  We  ran- 
sacked the  attic  and  found  some  articles  of 
clothing  belonging  to  our  absent  hostess, 
and  have  so  dressed  it  that,  with  a  tin  can 
in  its  hand,  it  now  looks  like  an  inade- 
quately clad  lady  speeding  to  her  bath- 
house with  a  pail  of  fresh  water. 

Last  night  "Mac"  and  I  were  on  night 
duty  at  M 9  and  when  we  arrived  at 


FIELD  SERVICE  101 

the  telephone  bureau  —  where  we  lie  on 
stretchers  fully  dressed  in  our  blankets 
waiting  for  a  call  (the  rats  would  keep  you 
awake  if  there  were  no  work  to  do)  —  we 
were  told  that  they  expected  a  bad  bom- 
bardment of  the  village.  "Mac"  and  I 
tossed  up  for  the  first  call,  and  I  lost. 
"Auberge  Saint-Pierre,  I  bet,"  laughed 
"Mac."  That  is  our  worst  trip  —  but  it 
was  to  be  something  even  more  unpleas- 
ant than  usual.  About  eleven  o'clock  the 
Boches  started  shelling  the  little  one- 
street  village  with  "  105  "  shrapnel.  In  the 
midst  of  it  a  brancardier  came  running  in 
to  ask  for  an  ambulance  —  three  couches, 
"tres  presse."  Of  course,  I  had  to  grin 
and  bear  it,  but  it  is  a  horrid  feeling  to 
have  to  go  out  into  a  little  street  where 
shells  are  falling  regularly  —  start  your 
motor  —  turn  —  back  —  and  run  a  few 
yards  down  the  street  to  a  poste  de  secours 
where  a  shell  has  just  landed  and  another 
is  due  any  moment. 


102  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

"Are  your  wounded  ready?  "  I  asked,  as 
calmly  as  I  could.  "Oui,  monsieur."  So 
out  I  went  —  and  was  welcomed  by  two 
shells  —  one  on  my  right  and  the  other 
just  down  the  street.  I  cranked  up  No.  10, 
the  brancardier  jumped  up  by  my  side, 
and  we  drove  to  our  destination.  I  de- 
cided to  leave  the  ambulance  on  the  left 
side  of  the  road  (the  side  nearer  the 
trenches  and  therefore  more  protected  by 
houses  from  shell-fire),  as  I  thought  it 
safer  on  learning  that  it  would  be  fifteen 
minutes  before  the  wounded  were  ready; 
and  luckily  for  me,  for  a  shell  soon  landed 
on  the  other  side  of  the  road  where  I  usu- 
ally leave  the  ambulance.  My  wounded 
men  were  now  ready;  it  appeared  that  one 
of  the  shrapnel  shells  had  entered  a  win- 
dow and  exploded  inside  a  room  where 
seven  soldiers,  resting  after  a  hard  day's 
work  in  the  trenches,  were  sleeping  — 
with  the  appalling  result  of  four  dead  and 
three  terribly  wounded.  As  I  felt  my  way 


FIELD  SERVICE  103 

to  the  hospital  along  that  pitch-black 
road,  I  could  not  help  wondering  why 
those  poor  fellows  were  chosen  for  the 
sacrifice  instead  of  us  others  in  the  tele- 
phone bureau  —  sixty  yards  down  the 
street. 

However,  here  I  am  writing  to  you,  safe 
and  sound,  on  the  little  table  by  my  bed- 
side, with  a  half-burnt  candle  stuck  in  a 
Muratti  cigarette  box.  Outside  the  night 
is  silent  —  my  window  is  open  and  in  the 
draught  the  wax  has  trickled  down  on  to 
the  box  and  then  to  the  table  —  unheeded 
—  for  my  thoughts  have  sped  far.  To 
Gloucester  days,  and  winter  evenings 
spent  in  the  old  brown-panelled,  raftered 
room,  with  its  pewter  lustrous  in  the 
candlelight;  and  the  big,  cheerful  fire  that 
played  with  our  shadows  on  the  wall, 
while  we  talked  or  read  —  and  were  con- 
tent. Well  —  that  peace  has  gone  for  a 
while,  but  these  days  will  likewise  pass, 
and  we  are  young.  It  has  been  good  to  be 


104  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

here  in  the  presence  of  high  courage  and 
to  have  learned  a  little  in  our  youth  of  the 
values  of  life  and  death. 

Pont-a-Mousson,  August  15,  1915. 

Yesterday  was  a  red-letter  day  for  me 
—  I  was  made  so  happy  that  I  feared 
something  bad  must  happen  to  counteract 
it.  The  American  mail  arrived !  —  twelve 
letters  —  from  H.  S.,  J.  H.,  C.  B.,  C.  S.  S., 

S ;  E.  T.,  etc.  —  and  my  uncle  and 

mother.  I  wonder  whether  you  people  out 
there  in  the  sunshine  of  peace  can  realize 
what  a  ray  of  joy  and  encouragement  the 
letters  you  are  writing  to  us  here  bring. 
I  got  this  packet  about  four  o'clock  and 
being  on  X — ■ — •  duty  took  them  up  there 
to  read.  I  sat  in  my  car  with  the  sun 
streaming  down  over  us  in  that  little  vil- 
lage semi-blue  with  soldiers,  and  started 
first  to  contemplate  the  writing  and  the 
dates  on  the  envelopes.  A  battery  of 
"  75V  were  firing  on  my  left,  and  we  heard 


FIELD  SERVICE  105 

the  shells  whistling  overhead  and  after  a 
few  seconds  the  boom  of  the  explosion  on 
my  right.  Even  the  shells  seemed  to  be  sing- 
ing with  pleasure  and  excitement.   Then 
I  was  brought  back  to  actualities  by  the 
voice  of  a  young  French  soldier — of  about 
twenty -one — who  stood  beside  me:  — 
"You  just  have  letters?" 
"  Yes  —  not  even  opened  yet." 
"  All  those!  You  are  to  be  married,  per- 
haps?" 

"No,  my  friend." 

"Surely  it  is  your  mother,  then,  who  has 
written  so  often." 

"Only  this  one  is  from  her,"  I  answered. 
And  then  a  strange  silence  fell  —  I  did  not 
feel  like  speaking,  for  glancing  up,  I  real- 
ized that  he  was  still  looking  at  that  one  let- 
ter in  my  hand.  After  a  few  moments,  fum- 
bling in  his  uniform,  he  pulled  out  a  packet 
of  earth-stained  letters.  "These  were  from 
my  mother  —  but  I  can  no  longer  look  for 
them — she  died  last  month." 


100  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

Perhaps  it  was  that  little  incident  that 
made  me  appreciate  so  tremendously  these 
messages  from  home,  but  when  I  got  into 
bed  last  night  and  lit  a  candle  by  my  side 
to  re-read  them  all,  —  and  when  my  mo- 
ther's turn  came,  —  I  found  the  link  with 
that  boy  and  realized  how  much  he  has 
lost  and  how  he  must  treasure  and  find 
comfort  in  that  little  batch  of  memories 
in  his  pocket.    They  too  were  probably 
full  of  anxiety  for  his  welfare,  full  of  en- 
couragement and  confidence  in  his  doing 
his  duty  as  a  true  French  woman's  son. 
And  then  my  imagination  wandered  to 
another    side:  —  The    letters    from    the 
front  —  the     letters     of    assurance  —  of 
counsel  not  to  worry  —  and  next,  per- 
haps, the  citation  —  for  gallantry  —  the 
pride  and  happiness  of  those  at  home.  — 
Finally  that  most  dreaded  letter  —  or  the 
brief  announcement  in  the  list  of  those 
"Mort  au  Champ  d'Honneur." 

Are  we  really  living  in   the  twentieth 


VIEW   OF   MOSELLE   BEHIND   MY    HOUSE 


QUART-EN-RESERVE 


FIELD  SERVICE  107 

century  after  1900  years  of  teaching  of 
supposed  civilization  and  Christianity? 

The  day  before  yesterday,  after  having 
made  several  trips  with  wounded,  I  had 
a  pressing  call  to  Auberge  St.  Pierre. 
There  the  Germans  were  bombarding 
as  usual,  and  it  was  unpleasant.  A  shell 
had  landed  near  a  kitchen,  killing  several 
and  seriously  wounding  one  soldier.  He 
had  a  hole  as  big  as  your  fist  right  through 
his  back.  "There  is  a  chance  if  you  can 
get  him  to  the  operating-room  quickly," 
I  was  told  —  it  was  eighteen  kilometres 
to  the  best  surgeon;  so  off  dear  old  "No. 
10"  and  I  started  on  our  rush  for  life. 
Toot !  toot !  toot !  —  and  even  the  soldiers, 
realizing  that  I  had  a  man's  life  in  my 
care,  made  a  clear  way  in  the  road  ahead 
—  and  through  village  after  village,  with- 
out moving  the  throttle,  we  sped  on  and 
on.  Bump,  bump,  bump,  —  what  did  it 
matter  if  I  had  to  shake  him  about  a 
little,  —  he  was  unconscious,  and  every 


108  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

second  counted.  "I  hope  I  won't  have  a 
puncture,"  I  found  myself  muttering  from 
time  to  time.  Finally,  I  turned  to  the  left 
—  then  another  corner,  —  and  blowing 
my  horn  I  drew  up  at  the  tent.  In  a 
second  two  brancardiers  had  the  car  un- 
loaded —  the  surgeon  in  white  was  wash- 
ing his  hands  —  and  thirty  minutes  from 
the  time  my  charge  was  given  into  my 
care,  he  was  lying  on  the  operating-table. 
"He  may  live"  said  the  surgeon.  That 
was  my  reward!  That  is  why  I  am  happy, 
even  here,  —  only  for  this  reason,  —  one 
sometimes  saves  lives  and  never  inten- 
tionally kills. 

The  other  day  I  went  up  to  the  top  of 
Mousson  —  i.e.,  the  hill  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge.  It  is  under  another  army  di- 
vision, and  so  we  have  to  get  special  per- 
mission from  the  Colonel,  but  as  our 
Section  is  treated  so  wonderfully  there  is 
no  difficulty  in  procuring  it.  We  first 
stopped  at  the  graveyard  and  tried  to  find 


FIELD  SERVICE  109 

poor  Mignot's  grave,  but  in  that  mess  of 
debris,  —  overturned  sepulchres  —  up- 
heaved tombstones  —  burst-open  coffins 
—  sun-bleached  bones  —  and  the  hun- 
dred new-made  graves,  —  we  could  not 
find  it.  We  would  have  continued  our 
search,  but  an  officer  told  us  not  to  stay 
any  longer,  as  we  were  in  easy  view  of  the 
Germans  and  they  might  bombard  at  any 
moment.  We  started  to  go  to  the  summit. 
Up  the  hill  we  climbed  and  the  little 
mountain-side  was  all  pitted  with  shell 
holes,  —  some  of  them  most  discomfort- 
ingly  new.  At  last  we  reached  the  top  and 
began  to  look  about.  A  few  minutes  after, 
having  asked  a  soldier  some  question,  we 
found  ourselves  surrounded,  and  rather 
roughly  asked  for  our  pass.  We  showed  it 
with  the  Colonel's  signature,  and  then 
followed  a  hearty  laugh  —  when  they  had 
to  confess  they  thought  our  foreign  accent 
was  Boche!  We  asked  in  what  direction 
Metz  was,  and  there  just  over  the  hill,  to 


110  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

the  right  of  a  little  tree  we  stood  facing,  it 
lay,  and,  like  some  glorious  dominating 
giant,  stood  out  the  cathedral  —  built  by 
the  French  for  the  worship  of  God  and 
teaching  of  Christianity,  and  now  so  kept 
by  the  Germans !  —  the  race  which  has 
set  loose  the  scourge.  If  I  could  only  be  in 
the  procession  that  marches  in  triumph  to 
Metz! 

I  must  tell  you  just  one  more  incident. 
The  other  evening  I  was  walking  down 
the  street  when  an  excited  shout  made  me 
stop  and  I  saw  running  toward  me  an 
old  friend  —  one  I  knew  when  I  was  in 
London  —  now  dressed  in  the  blue  of 
France.  "What  on  earth  are  you  doing 
here?"  I  asked.  "Tell  me  how  in  the 
name  of  all  that's  possible,  did  you  get 
out  to  the  front,"  he  replied,  and  then  we 
set  to  and  talked.  He  is  a  French  artist 
who  lived  in  London  and  entered  the 
French  army,  as  the  English  would  not 
have  him.   He,  knowing  I  had  not  passed 


FIELD  SERVICE  111 

the   "military   medical,"   could   not   get 
over  the  fact  that  I  had  arrived  here  not- 
withstanding.   He  dragged  me  to  a  group 
of  his  friends  and  we  all  had  a  happy  half- 
hour.    Then  the  usual  handshake  and  au 
revoir.    As  I  turned  away,  he  followed 
me:  —  "I    go    to    Quart-en-Reserve    to- 
night for  some  days — probably  I  shall  not 
return  whole.    If  I  am  a  bit  knocked  out 
you  will  know,  and  if  I  am  killed,  my  peo- 
ple will  know.    It  would  be  hard  for  my 
wife  wondering  whether  I  was  seriously 
hurt  or  not  —  she  is  about  to  have  a  child. 
Supposing  I  am  wounded,  will  you  post 
this  letter  —  it  only  says  that  I  am  getting 
on  well  —  am  but  slightly  wounded  and 
that  she  is  not  to  worry."   I  add  no  com- 
ment to  the  story,  but  I  do  wish  you  could 
realize  what  trench  life  means  to  the  in- 
fantry when  they  know  they  have  to  go 
to  a  hell  like  the  Quart-en-Reserve.     I 
know  what  I  feel  like  when  I  have  to  drive 
along  a  road  being  bombarded  by  the  Ger- 


112  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

mans  —  but  that  is  only  for  five  or  six 
minutes  —  but  think  of  five  or  six  days 
with  scarcely  an  hour's  rest  out  of  the 
twenty-four.  No  wonder  we  have  to  carry 
madmen  to  the  hospital  sometimes. 

August  19th. 

Poor  old  "No.  10"  has  been  ill,  so  I 
have  had  her  engine  down  and  cleaned  it. 
Now  she  is  running  finely. 

There  is  an  American  stationed  here 
who  enlisted  in  the  French  army  —  poor 
boy,  he  is  only  twenty.  We  asked  him  to 
dinner. 

"Why  did  you  enlist?" 

"Well,  I  guess  I  wanted  to  see  some 
action." 

"Are  you  satisfied?" 

"Satisfied?  Well,  I  came  here  to  see 
life  and  movement  —  all  I  see  in  my 
ditch  are  worms,  spiders,  marmites,  and 
torpilles!" 

"So  you  have  changed  your  mind?" 


FIELD  SERVICE  US 

"No  —  guess  my  mind  is  the  same  as 
when  I  enlisted  —  I  wanted  to  see  war  — 
I  still  do.  I  have  n't  seen  war  —  I  have 
seen  murder  and  cultivated,  systematic 
butchery." 

There  has  been  a  lot  of  "permission" 
for  the  soldiers  here  and  they  are  now  re- 
turning after  their  eight  days  —  the  first 
eight  days  in  twelve  months,  the  first  time 
they  have  seen  their  wives  and  mothers 
for  a  year,  and  in  many  cases  they  have 
their  first  look  at  their  own  children  born 
in  their  absence.  One  soldier  I  asked 
whether  his  wife  was  pleased  to  see  him : 
—  "Ah,"  he  said,  "you  should  have  seen 
her  cry  when  I  left."  "But  when  you  ar- 
rived?" I  asked.  "She  was  pleased!  Ah, 
mon  Dieu,  you  should  have  seen  her  cry 
when  I  arrived." 

August  20th. 

To-day  has  been  a  villainous  one.  The 
French  bombarded  the  German  stores,  and 


114  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

set  fire  to  some  large  storage-place  —  we 
think  petrol  and  stores  (perhaps  the  petrol 
they  spray  lighted  into  our  trenches),  and 
from  twelve  o'clock  till  now  the  whole  sky 
has  been  black  with  smoke.  Of  course  the 
Germans  made  "reprisals  "  and  every  little 
town  around  was  bombarded.  One  shell 
which  burst  where  nine  persons  were  sit- 
ting dining  killed  them  all. 

The  telephone  bell  rings  —  two  cars 
wanted  at  once  for  L . 

August  23d. 

About  10.45  this  morning  a  German 
aeroplane  came  over  the  town  —  not  two 
hundred  and  fifty  metres  high.  We  could 
see  the  pilot  and  observer  and  the  four 
Maltese  crosses  on  the  planes.  It  was  one 
of  the  bravest  acts  I  have  seen.  She  was 
too  low  for  the  artillery  to  open  up  fire, 
so  the  soldiers  fired  at  her  with  their 
rifles,  and  although  it  seemed  as  if  she 
must  have  been   hit,  the   pilot    turned 


FIELD  SERVICE  115 

around  and  flew  safely  back  to  the  Ger- 
man lines.  This  little  incident  leaves  us 
with  a  very  uneasy  feeling,  as  we  think  no 
German  would  have  taken  such  risk  un- 
less the  mission  had  been  very  important. 


INCENDIARY  BOMB  DROPPED  BY  GERMAN  AVIATOR  AT 
PONT-A-MOUSSON 

He  must  have  seen  everything  he  wanted 
to --our  cars  are  fairly  conspicuous  with 
their  crosses  on  the  top  of  the  canvas.  He 
dropped  signals  as  he  flew  over  our  house 
—  and  we  are  wondering  just  what  is  to 
follow  —  and  when ! 


116  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

August  30th. 

The  Germans,  not  satisfied  with  the 
reprisals  they  took  on  the  22d  for  the 
burning  by  the  French  of  store  and  fac- 
tory at  Pagny,  again  opened  up  on  certain 
buildings  of  a  neighboring  town  on  August 
22.  They  sent  over  150  shells  between 
two  o'clock  and  seven.  All  large  mar- 
rnites  —  210's,  280's,  and  I  believe  some 
larger.  The  damage  done  is  considerable, 
but  after  such  a  bombardment  it  was 
marvelous  that  anything  remained.  Over 
thirty-three  shells  fell  in  the  road ! 

It  happened  to  be  my  day  of  repos  and 
I  was  asked  if  I  xwould  care  to  go  to 
Nancy  for  the  day,  so  at  seven  o'clock  in 
the  morning  I  appeared  in  full  parade 
uniform,  so  to  speak;  and  except  that  I 
had  n't  the  heart  to  shave  off  my  tempo- 
rary mustache,  I  am  sure  I  must  have  cut 
quite  a  figure ! 

Off  we  went  to  Nancy  and  spent  an 
interesting  day  looking  all  over  that  won- 


FIELD  SERVICE  117 

derful  town.  Salisbury  as  you  know  has 
got  the  croix-de-guerre,  and  we  all  felt 
very  proud  parading  the  street  with  him, 
and  his  significant  ribbon.  While  the  two 
men  with  me  went  to  have  a  hair-cut, 
which  I  happened  to  feel  no  impulse  to 
do,  I  stayed  outside  in  the  car. 

I  noticed  four  Moroccans  walking  down 
the  street,  and  casually  thought  how  pic- 
turesque their  red  fezes  looked  against 
their  blue  uniform,  when  to  my  horror 
they  stopped  by  my  car  and  started  salut- 
ing and  bowing  and  talking  so  ostenta- 
tiously that  it  took  exactly  thirty  seconds 
for  a  large  crowd  of  Nancy  inhabitants 
to  collect.  The  mere  fact  of  being  in 
town  for  the  first  time  in  twelve  weeks 
was  quite  strange,  but  to  find  myself 
surrounded  by  a  quantity  of  civilians  and 
the  center  of  attraction  was,  to  say  the 
least,  most  embarrassing.  It  was  a  hot 
day,  and  I  felt  the  perspiration  pouring 
down  my  back,  as  I  looked  to  right  and 


118  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

left  for  a  way  of  escape.  But  my  trial  was 
not  over.  Horrors!  My  hand  was  taken 
and  all  four  soldiers  solemnly  bowed  over 
it  and  kissed  it.  I  did  not  know  what  to 
do  —  being  anxious  not  to  offend  them, 
nor  to  add  to  the  amusement  of  the  on- 
looking  civilians.  I  thanked  them  in  the 
name  of  America,  for  the  honor  they  were 
paying  her!  and  brought  down  on  my 
unsuspecting  hand  a  renewal  of  the  em- 
brace. Suddenly  —  joy!  what  was  that? 
An  Irish  voice !  "  Sure,  young  man,  it 's  an 
uncomfortable  soul  ye  are  this  minute." 
And  an  old  fellow  emerged  from  the  mul- 
titude bristling  with  the  hope  of  a  brawl. 
However,  he  calmly  joined  forces  with 
me  —  and  we  presently  left  the  crowd 
with  as  much  dignity  as  was  possible 
under  the  circumstances.  From  him  I 
heard  all  about  the  war,  and  as  much,  if 
not  more,  about  Ireland,  as  we  sat  in  a 
public  house  across  the  street.  So  ended 
an  awkward  encounter.     Well,  we  left 


FIELD  SERVICE  119 

Nancy  about  five-thirty  (I  had  bought 
cakes  and  various  luxuries  for  the  boys), 

and  when  we  arrived  just  outside  R , 

about  six-thirty,  we  saw  to  our  surprise  the 
effects  of  the  bombardment  on  buildings 
and  the  road.  Uncertain  whether  to  take 
a  chance  or  not,  we  drove  nearer  and 
were  still  hesitating  when  a  shell  burst  a 
hundred  yards  down  the  road,  and  de- 
cided us !  Not  being  on  duty  we  had  no 
reason  to  go  to  Pont-a-Mousson,  so  turn- 
ing around  we  went  to  dinner  at  Toul. 
After  a  good  meal  we  started  home  and 
arriving  at  my  room  at  eleven-thirty  I 
was  relieved  to  hear  that  no  one  had  been 
injured.  Several  big  eclats,  however,  had 
fallen  in  our  garden  and  two  of  our  cars 
had  very  narrow  escapes. 

A  strange  thing  to  me  was  the  sense  of 
dissatisfaction —  of  subconscious  restless- 
ness—  I  felt  while  in  Nancy.  It  was  the 
first  time  for  twelve  weeks  I  had  been  in  a 
civilized  town,  where  everything  was  going 


ViO  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

on  as  usual.  It  all  seemed  so  artificial, 
so  futile  and  aimless.  As  our  car  tooted 
home,  I  turned  around  and  exclaimed :  — 
"Oh,  Lord!  how  glad  I  am  to  get  back 
again  to  our  dear  old  peaceful  bit  of  coun- 
try!"—  rather  Irish  but  quite  sincere. 

The  other  day  I  had  two  hours  off  duty 
and  McConnell  and  I  went  for  a  walk 
along  the  Moselle.  We  saw  several  sol- 
diers bathing  and  decided  it  would  be  a 
good  idea  to  do  likewise.  It  was  a  glori- 
ously hot  day,  so  the  fact  that  we  had 
no  towels  was  unimportant.  I  confess  I 
became  "anglais"  to  the  extent  of  insist- 
ing on  walking  along  the  bank  until  we 
got  away  from  every  one  and  could  bathe 
alone.  At  last  we  found  a  quiet  corner 
and  started  to  undress  —  but  we  had  been 
noticed!  "C'est  les  Americains"  — and 
before  we  could  realize  it,  some  soldiers 
were  hurriedly  preparing  to  swim  in  the 
Moselle  with  us,  so  our  bath  became  a 
real  party.   I  only  tell  this  little  incident 


FIELD  SERVICE  121 

to  show  again  how  ready  the  soldiers  al- 
ways are  to  join  and  talk  to  members  of 
our  little  Section. 

September  4th. 

A  sad  thing  happened  the  other  day  to 
a  friend  of  mine,  a  poilu  who  has  been 
helping  me  to  get  specimens  of  perfect, 
empty  German  shells  (those  which  have 
"arrived,"  but  not  exploded).  The  fellow 
was  an  expert  at  dismounting  them,  — 
a  very  dangerous  task,  —  and  when  he 
had  entirely  emptied  them,  used  to  bring 
them  to  me.   I  had  many  a  long  talk  with 
him,  and  he  got  quite  fond  of  American 
tobacco    (poilus   don't   usually  care  for 
"eenglish"  tobacco).    He  used  to  like  to 
tell  me  about  his  girl,  and  how  happy 
they  were  together  before  the  war  —  and 
how  the  day  peace  was  declared,  he  was 
going  to  marry  her.  Lately  I  had  noticed 
he  looked  depressed,  and  one  day  I  found 
out  the  reason.    I  was  in  his  little  cellar 


1S2  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

sitting  on  a  block  of  wood,  talking  of 
America,  and  he  of  France,  when  the 
postman  came  to  the  door.  He  looked  at 
my  friend  —  who  had  become  alert  — 
and  shaking  his  head,  said,  "Pas  encore" 
—  and  murmuring  "Salut"  to  me  con- 
tinued his  walk  with  his  precious  "letters 
from  home."  My  friend  became  very 
white  —  and  presently  confessed  to  me 
that  he  had  had  no  letters  for  six  weeks. 
Forty-two  days  —  that  seems  a  terribly 
long  time  out  here,  you  know.  A  few 
days  after,  I  saw  him  again  and  asked  if 
he  had  heard  from  his  girl.  He  said  "  no," 
very  sullenly,  but  later,  over  a  glass  of 
beer,  he  mentioned  that  his  father  had 
written  to  say  his  girl  had  been  misbe- 
having herself.  The  poor  fellow  seemed 
stunned  with  the  news.  After  vainly  try- 
ing to  cheer  him  up,  I  went  back  to  din- 
ner. The  next  morning  I  did  not  see  him, 
being  on  Montauville  duty,  but  the  fol- 
lowing morning  I  was  at  headquarters 


FIELD  SERVICE  123 

when  an  urgent  call  came  for  an  ambu- 
lance. My  car  happened  to  be  just  going, 
so  I  took  the  trip.  "Where  was  the 
house?  "  I  asked.  "Just  over  there  where 
the  man  is  waving."  It  was  the  house  of 
my  friend.  Need  I  end  the  story?  A 
broken  man,  who  had  worked  valiantly 
for  twelve  months  under  hellish  condi- 
tions to  defend  his  country  —  had  shot 
himself.    We  lifted  him  on  to  a  stretcher 

—  then,  feeling  pretty  badly,  and  with  the 
doctor's  urgent  warning  against  loss  of 
time  ringing  in  my  ears,  we,  "No.  10"  and 

I,  sped  away  to  B .    They  took  him 

out  of  my  car  —  read  the  little  pink  fiche 
which  is  attached  to  every  wounded  sol- 
dier and  filled  in  by  the  doctor,  who  has 
dressed  him  in  the  first  "poste  de  secour" 

—  and  then  exchanged  glances.  I  knew 
those  glances  not  only  meant  that  life  was 
nearly  extinct,  but  that  it  did  not  much 
matter  whether  he  recovered  or  not  —  as 
he  would  get  six  years'  imprisonment  if  he 


124  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

got  well,  for  attempted  suicide,  and  that 
sentence,  in  war-time,  means  constant  first- 
line  trench  work.  I  followed  him  into  the 
operating-room,  where  he  opened  his  eyes, 
and  I  think  he  recognized  me  —  his  lips 
moved  —  but  I  don't  know. 

The  other  night  came  a  hurried  call  to 
Clois  Bois  for  a  poor  fellow  who  had  kept 
his  grenade  too  long  and  was  very  badly 
shattered.  "Just  a  chance  if  you  get  him 
to  the  Hospital  quickly"  said  the  doctor. 
How  many  times  I  have  felt  quite  elated 
at  this  injunction,  and  literally  flown  to 
the  Belleville  Hospital;  but  in  this  instance 
I  had  that  horrible  sense  of  hopelessness. 
It  was  dark  and  quite  impossible  to  make 
Belleville  under  an  hour  and  a  quarter. 
The  poor  fellow  died  before  I  could  get 
there. 

To-day,  I  took  all  the  carbon  out  of 
the  car  and  put  in  a  new  commutator.  A 
quiet  and  lonely  day.   I  feel  homesick. 

The  German  offensive  which  I  thought 


FIELD  SERVICE  125 

might  take  place  yesterday  did  not.  The 
French  got  news  of  the  fact  and  of  the 
hour  that  they  proposed  to  attack,  and  five 
minutes  beforehand  the  "  75' s  "  opened 
up  and  catching  many  of  the  Germans 
already  in  their  first  line  of  trenches 
so  demoralized  them  as  to  wholly  disrupt 
their  intention.  We  had  only  about  ten 
wounded,  but  goodness  knows  how  many 
they  lost. 

September  6th. 

I  forgot  to  mention  a  very  important 
event  in  the  history  of  the  Section.  After 
the  Blenod  attack  Walter  and  I  went  to 
see  the  damage  done.  WTe  found  the 
havoc  was  pretty  bad.  We  were  talking 
to  some  men  who  had  actually  been  in  a 
room  where  a  shell  exploded  and  had  not 
even  been  wounded,  when  a  soldier  joined 
us  and  speaking  in  good  English,  asked 
if  we  would  like  to  have  some  English 
papers.    Although  we   felt  pretty  sure 


126  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

they  would  n't  contain  very  recent  news, 
we  had  to  show  an  eager  appreciation 
and  asked  him  if  he  would  go  and  fetch 
them.  We  followed  him  to  his  lodging. 
He  presently  emerged  with  a  large  par- 
cel of  quite  old  papers  and  began  chatting 
with  us.  London  was  mentioned  and  we 
soon  discovered  that  he  had  been  chef  for 
some  friends  of  mine  and  had  after  leaving 
them  become  chef  to  Lord  Fisher.  I  think 
I  told  you  that  our  chef  was  an  undertaker 
before  the  war,  and  his  cooking  was  such 
that  we  wonder  he  did  not  achieve  a  lot 
of  patrons  in  our  Section.  When  we  got 
back  to  the  Bureau  we  decided  to  ask  the 
Governor  of  Pont-a-Mousson  to  allow  us 
to  have  Cosson  —  for  that  was  his  name  — 
as  our  chef,  and  of  course  our  request  was 
immediately  acceded  to;  so  now  we  are 
having  food  de  luxe,  and  the  singe  (as  they 
call  the  American  tinned  meat  we  have  to 
eat  every  other  meal)  was  quite  delicious 
as  a  curry  last  night! 


FIELD  SERVICE  127 

September  8th. 

I  hope  I  have  not  missed  to-day's  mail. 
I  may  have  done  so,  as  I  hear  our  letters 
are  kept  for  some  time  before  being  for- 
warded. In  case  I  have,  it  will  be  Septem- 
ber 27th  or  so  before  you  get  this,  and  I 
shall  perhaps  have  started  home  on  leave; 
though  as  the  time  approaches  for  me  to 
go,  I  doubt  more  and  more  whether  I  can 
actually  break  away!    The  only  possibil- 
ity of  real  contentment  now  for  any  one 
who  cares  for  France  or  England  is  to  stay 
until  their  just  cause  is  victorious  —  or 
(as  in  many  a  case,  alas!)  until  the  call  to 
eternal  peace.    Every  soldier  is  dreading 
the  winter  here  and  secretly  fosters  the 
almost  hopeless  wish  and  belief  that  there 
will  be  no  winter  campaign.   However,  as 
day  passes  day,  and  all  preparations  for 
one  go  forward  to  completion,  the  French, 
with  their  wonderful  pluck  and  determi- 
nation, will  resign  themselves  to  the  inevi- 


128  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

table.  The  other  day  a  poilu  who  was 
standing  as  usual  with  eight  or  nine  others 
around  my  car  at  X ,  suddenly  ex- 
pressed this  compensating  thought :  "Well, 
it  may  be  hard  for  us  French  this  side  of 
Europe,  but  what  a  time  the  Bodies  will 
have  in  Russia!" — and  the  idea  quite 
cheered  up  the  little  party. 

Yesterday  I  had  a  sudden  call  to  fetch 
three  badly  wounded.  One  of  them  was  in 
great  pain  from  a  wound  in  the  back,  and 
the  slightest  jostle  or  bump  I  knew  would 
cause  him  great  agony.  The  doctor,  point- 
ing to  one  of  the  other  two,  said,  "You 
must  get  him  to  the  operating-room  as 
quickly  as  you  can."  "But,"  I  answered, 
"I  dare  not  go  fast,  this  poor  chap  is  in 
such  condition."  The  doctor  shrugged 
his  shoulders  —  but  the  man  who  was 
suffering  had  heard  —  "Go  as  fast  as  you 
can,  my  friend,  it  won't  kill  me!"  I  did 
so  —  and  the  bumps  were  bad.  The  poor 
fellow  could  not  help  uttering  cries  from 


FIELD  SERVICE  129 

time  to  time.  Before  I  arrived  at  Belle- 
ville, the  cries  had  ceased,  as  the  great 
pain  had  made  him  unconscious.  The 
badly  wounded  man  was  dead.  "C'est  la 
guerre,"  said  the  doctor  to  whom  I  told 
the  story  —  and  I  left  him  washing  his 
hands  for  the  operation. 

I  have  just  heard  an  amusing  fragment. 
A  German  prisoner  lately  taken,  was 
seated  in  the  telephone  office  at  Montau- 
ville,  waiting  to  be  transported.  He  had 
stamped  on  his  uniform  buttons  an  iron 
cross,  and  the  French  were  asking  him 
why  he  wore  it.  He  explained  that  it  was 
the  right  of  a  Section  who  had  earned 
the  iron  cross  to  do  so.  The  Frenchmen 
started  chaffing  him.  He  could  under- 
stand and  speak  French,  and  a  jocular 
remark  not  particularly  complimentary 
to  the  Kaiser  was  cut  short  by  the  pris- 
oner, who,  nervously  looking  round  the 
room,  said  in  an  awed  whisper,  "Oh!  if 
the  Kaiser  should  hear  of  your  talking 
this  way  —  rnein  Gott!" 


130         AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

The  other  day  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  hos- 
pital at  L ,  and  found  all  the  wounded 

(only  very  serious  cases  stay  here)  quite 
happy  and  buoyant,  and  the  men  who  had 
been  evacuated  in  my  car  never  failed  to 
remind  me  —  and  thank  me.  One  young 
fellow  about  my  own  age  had  had  his  left 
leg  amputated.  I  sat  by  his  bed  and 
chatted  with  him,  and  he  told  me  of  his 
wife  —  a  year  and  a  half  married —  and 
of  his  child  whom  he  had  not  yet  seen. 
He  was  so  very  eager  that  somehow  the 
pity  of  it  made  me  turn  aside  for  a  sec- 
ond, and  look  out  the  window.  Quick  of 
perception,  out  went  his  hand  to  mine  — 
"Oh,  she  will  understand,  camarade,"  he 
said,  smiling;  "she  will  love  me  just  the 
same  —  she  is  a  Frenchwoman." 

How  can  one  help  caring  for  France  and 
French  people  —  they  have  such  keen 
appreciation  of  the  value  of  sympathy  and 
gratitude.  Here  in  the  midst  of  tortur- 
ing death,  they  at  least  are  cheerful,  and, 


FIELD  SERVICE  1S1 

having  put  aside  the  barrier  of  selfishness 
are  wholly  simple  and  direct  in  their  hu- 
man relations.  The  fact  that  on  every 
side  there  is  daily  evidence  of  this  atti- 
tude —  in  spite  of  so  bitter  and  costly  a 
struggle  —  is  high  proof  of  the  fineness  of 
their  civilization. 

September  llf-th. 

To-day  the  Section  and  our  Section 
leader  were  decorated.  The  ceremony 
took  place  in  the  garden  and  the  "  Croix  de 
Guerre"  was  pinned  on  Salisbury's  breast. 
The  double  kiss,  given  with  dignity,  and 
a  few  words  of  congratulation  to  our  Sec- 
tion by  the  medecin  divisionnaire  ended 
the  notable  event.  So  we  now  have  hang- 
ing over  our  mantelpiece  this  coveted 
insignia. 

The  Section  is  not  going  to  move  from 
here.  The  General  says  it  is  one  of  the 
most  active  parts  on  the  line,  and  lately, 
although  the  wounded  have  not  been  so 


132  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

very  numerous,  the  trench  bombard- 
ments have  been  so  heavy  that  I  antici- 
pate more  action. 

Did  I  tell  you  of  the  marvellous  escape 
George  Roeder  and  Walter  Lovell  had 
yesterday?  A  shell  dropped  eight  or  ten 
yards  away  from  them  in  the  road  and  did 
not  explode.  I  wonder  they  did  n't  die 
of  surprise!  I  don't  know  what  our  Sec- 
tion would  have  done  without  those  two. 
But  everything  happens  to  George  and 
he  still  has  a  whole  skin,  thank  God! 

No  letter  from  America  has  come  to  me 
for  over  two  weeks,  which  is  not  very 
stimulating.  Out  here,  mole  hills  are 
mountains,  and  m©untains  —  impassable, 
and  although  it  is  of  no  real  importance 
whether  one  gets  a  letter  or  not,  or 
whether  the  letter  one  may  get  is  cold  or 
warm,  yet  these  small  and  seemingly  in- 
significant things  are  sometimes  enough 
to  send  away  sleep.  I  suppose  the  truth 
is,  I  really  need  a  rest  and  change.  It  has 


FIELD  SERVICE  1S3 

seemed  to  me  lately  that  modern  warfare 
means  even  more  of  a  nervous  expendi- 
ture than  a  physical  one. 

The  nights  are  getting  cold,  dark  and 
damp.  The  leaves  are  falling,  underbrush 
turning  —  the  icy  hand  of  winter  stretches 
out  nearer  and  nearer  —  and  the  trials 
of  the  poilus  are  doubling  every  day. 

Yesterday  I  talked  with  a  priest.  He 
and  most  of  his  calling  voluntarily  ac- 
cepted at  the  beginning  of  the  war  the 
fearful  task  of  burying  the  dead.  It 
sounds  very  simple,  does  n't  it?  Do  you 
realize  what  it  means?  It  means  hand- 
ling terrible  objects  covered  with  blood- 
soaked  clothing,  that  once  had  the  shape 
of  human  beings.  It  means  taking  from 
these  forms  all  articles  of  apparel  that 
might  prove  serviceable  and  searching 
through  these  red-stained  clothes  for  any 
letters  or  identification.  Some  of  these 
shapes  are  hardly  of  human  outline,  very 
stiff  and  cold.   Some  are  mere  fragments, 


134  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

no  longer  of  any  recognizable  form.  That 
is  a  little  of  what  burying  the  dead  means. 
I  spare  you  more  detail.  And  this  is  the 
work  the  priests  of  Peace  are  doing  in 
France.  Wonderful,  you  think?  No,  it  is 
French  temperament,  French  courage. 

The  musician  is  now  brancardier.  The 
artist,  the  poet,  the  paterfamilias  of  age 
past  military  obligation  —  all  digging 
trenches  —  or  any  work  they  can  lay  their 
hands  upon.  That  is  why  France  lives 
and  has  lived  through  all  her  agony.  How 
often  have  we  heard  said  "Poor  France! 
She  will  never  stand  this  great  calamity ! " 
She  will  stand  a  hundred  such  calamities 
and  always  come  to  the  top  again! 

Sunday. 

And  for  a  Sunday,  quite  quiet.  Of 
course  we  had  our  usual  bombardment, 
but  only  shrapnel.  About  4.30,  they 
started  to  arrive  and  a  call  for  two  cars 
followed.    I  had  to  go  to  M and  on 


FIELD  SERVICE  135 

the  way  up  there,  at  the  X- — =  I  saw  a 
horrible  sight,  two  dead,  three  wounded 
—  and  a  horse.  A  shrapnel  shell,  badly 
timed,  had  fallen  exactly  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  and  made  a  great  mess.  Schroe- 
der  and  Willis  were  there,  so  I  continued 

up  to  M ,  where  I  got  seven  wounded. 

The  American  mail  has  arrived!  Let- 
ters from  you,  Joe,  and  S .  A  feast! 

Monday. 

Serious  bombardment  of  three  villages. 
Schroeder  and  I  were  at  Dieulouard,  so  for 
the  first  time  missed  it.  It  was  a  pleasant 
miss  for  us.  Those  who  pretend  they  like 
to  be  in  bombardments  are  either  hum- 
bugs or  have  never  been  in  a  real  one. 
Having  experienced  them  more  or  less  for 
four  months,  I  dislike  the  sensation  now 
as  much  as  on  my  first  day. 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  while  the 
villages  about  here  are  under  constant 
bombardment  many  of  the  oldest  civil- 


136  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

ians  cannot  be  induced  to  leave  their 
homes,  preferring  to  risk  death  in  their 
cellars.  The  other  day  a  very  "old  woman 
at  Montauville  had  an  amazing  escape. 
A  "150"  high-explosive  shell  fell  into 
the  bedroom  of  a  cottage  where  she  was 
sleeping.  The  small  room  was  entirely 
shattered,  but  its  occupant  was  not  even 
injured!  When  I  saw  her  soon  after  she 
was  in  an  intense  state  of  resentment  over 
the  destruction  of  her  personal  belongings, 
but  her  own  escape  did  not  seem  to  appeal 
to  her. 

I  heard  a  story  yesterday  which  I  have 
every  reason  to  believe  is  true.  I  give  it 
to  you  as  I  got  it: 

Early  one  morning  a  soldier  appeared 
in  a  boyau  (communication  trench)  near 
here  in  the  uniform  of  a  genie  (French 
engineer)  and  started  chatting  with  some 
passing  poilus.  He  told  them  he  was  in- 
specting the  lines  and  they  showed  him 
round  their  trenches.    On  his  tour,  so  to 


FIELD  SERVICE  137 

speak,  he  met  some  artillerymen,  who 
asked  him  to  lunch  with  their  battery. 
He  accepted,  and  after  lunch  wandered 
about  the  wood  with  his  new-found 
friends,  who  showed  him  the  position  of 
many  guns.  As  night  came  on,  explaining 
he  had  to  return  to  duty,  he  left  his  friends 
and  went  to  the  trenches.  It  was  now 
dark  and  on  getting  to  the  first  line,  he 
told  the  sentry  that  he  had  orders  to  go 
out  and  inspect  the  barbed  wire  between 
the  lines.  As  that  was  in  accordance  with 
the  duties  of  a  genie,  the  sentry  let  him 
go.  The  man  never  returned,  and  as,  on 
inquiry,  the  company  to  which  he  said  he 
belonged  did  not  know  him,  there  is  little 
doubt  he  was  a  German  spy. 

Another  story  I  heard  from  a  friend  of 
mine  in  the  trenches  near  Soissons,  and 
it  is  typical  of  the  hopeless  brutality  we 
have  to  expect. 

When  the  trenches  are  very  close  to 
each  other,  a  little  advance  post  is  dug  so 


138  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

that  one  can  hear  what  is  being  said  by 
the  enemy  in  their  trenches.  Generally, 
however,  the  distance  between  the  lines 
is  too  great  for  this,  and  at  night  a  sol- 
dier is  sent  out  to  crawl  to  within  hear- 
ing distance  of  the  enemy.  One  night  a 
poilu  so  engaged  got  wounded  and  when 
daylight  came  he  was  seen  to  be  struggling 
to  crawl  back  to  his  friends.  Two  soldiers 
promptly  started  out  to  help  him,  but 
on  reaching  him  the  Germans  shot  and 
wounded  them,  so  that  the  three  men 
were  now  crying  to  their  comrades  to  come 
and  save  them. 

Realizing  that  it  was  death  to  any  one 
who  left  the  trench  in  daylight,  the  cap- 
tain forbade  more  of  his  men  to  venture 
out  before  dark.  As  soon  as  darkness  fell, 
two  other  soldiers  crept  forth,  but  no 
sooner  had  they  reached  the  three  wounded 
than  an  illuminating  rocket  disclosed  their 
positions  to  the  enemy,  and  left  five  men 
lying  wounded  between  the  lines.  As  the 


FIELD  SERVICE  139 

captain  could  not  afford  to  lose  his  men 
in  this  futile  way,  he  detailed  two  sentries 
to  shoot  any  one  attempting  to  leave. 
The  five  men  lay  there  shouting  to  their 
friends  —  calling  them  by  their  names  — 
reminding  them  of  their  friendship  —  and 
asking  if  they  were  going  to  allow  their 
comrades  to  die  thus  without  help.  So 
that  when  two  brancardiers  came  into  the 
trench  they  found  the  occupants  in  a  ter- 
rible state  of  anguish  and  nerve  tension. 
Not  being  under  the  command  of  the  cap- 
tain, and  being  Red  Cross,  they  promptly 
left  the  trench  to  save  the  five  wounded 
Frenchmen  —  Seven  men  are  still  there 
between  friend  and  foe,  —  but  at  peace 
now,  God  willing. 

September  23d. 

On  Tuesday,  Ben  and  Willis  and  I  went 
to  Nomeny,  a  town  some  fifteen  kilo- 
metres away,  the  other  side  of  the  Moselle. 
It  was  a  long  walk. 


140  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

After  stopping  to  put  a  wreath  on  Mig- 
not's  grave,  we  started  about  one  o'clock 
on  our  journey.  It  was  a  very  hot  day! 
We  arrived  at  a  little  village  which  at 
first  sight  looked  deserted.  We  soon  saw 
the  reason.  In  the  middle  of  the  road  was 
a  large  hole,  a  little  farther  on  a  pool  of 
blood  —  presently  two  dead  horses  —  a 
successful  shell. 

Passing  through  Aton  the  road  goes  on 
straight  —  ever  straight  —  kilometre  on 
kilometre.  We  passed  the  village  and 
famous  battlefield  of  Ste.  Genevieve  on 
our  right.  Here,  on  September  8,  1914, 
two  "75"  guns,  a  few  mitrailleuses  and 
a  handful  of  five  hundred  determined 
French  soldiers  hurled  down  an  attacking 
force  of  12,000  Germans.  Again  and  again 
the  upright  massed  line  advanced  up  the 
hill,  to  be  leveled  like  bowling  pins.  After 
some  hours  of  fighting,  the  brave  little 
band  of  Frenchmen  on  the  top  of  the  hill 
found  that  they  had  no  more  ammunition, 


FIELD  SERVICE  141 

so  with  fixed  bayonets  they  threw  the  last 
advancing  Germans  down  the  hill.  The 
latter  retired  to  Pont-a-Mousson  with 
some  four  thousand  of  their  dead  left  on 
the  hillside.  These  they  disposed  of  by 
throwing  into  the  Moselle.  The  French 
lost  only  fourteen  men. 

Apropos  of  this  I  am  reminded  of  a 
possible  cause  for  the  illness  of  many  of 
our  boys  last  June.  Half  the  Section  are 
teetotalers,  and  the  other  half  drink 
"Pinard,"  the  vin  du  pays,  which  comes 
from  the  midi  and  which  is  supplied  to 
every  French  soldier.  The  water  we  were 
suspicious  of,  so  Ned  asked  Mignot  to 
ascertain  where  the  chef  got  it.  Mignot 
promised  to  watch  and  see  whether  it 
really  was  taken  from  the  spring  a  little 
distance  from  the  house,  as  we  had  been 
assured  was  the  case.  Imagine  our  feelings 
when  he  announced  at  breakfast  the  next 
morning  that  the  w^ater  we  had  been  drink- 
ing and  which  had  been  used  for  cooking 
was  drawn  from  the  Moselle !  . 


142  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

To  continue :  A  little  beyond  we  came  to 
the  battlefield  of  Nomeny  of  August  20, 
1914.  Along  the  roadside,  dotted  all  over 
the  field,  are  little  white  wooden  crosses, 
bearing  the  same  inscriptions: 

"  Ici  est  mort  un  soldat  francais  No 

tombe  au  Champ  d'Honneur,  20  aout,  1914." 

and  here  a  more  elaborate  cross,  a  dead 
commandant,  and  there  a  cross  marked, 
"Ici  est  mort  un  soldat  allemand."  We 
walked  on,  a  silent  trio.  I  was  thinking 
of  a  year  ago,  of  the  wives  and  families  of 
these  heroes  already  almost  forgotten. 

Now  we  came  to  a  little  village  sur- 
rounded with  trees.  On  our  left,  some  kilo- 
metres away,  we  saw  the  "  75 's  "  bursting 
above  the  Germans.  Sitting  down  with 
some  soldiers  who  were  taking  shelter,  we 
watched  for  an  hour  these  "75's"  burst- 
ing, foot  by  foot,  along  the  enemy's 
trenches.  Again  we  started  on  our  way 
and  passed  a  hole  cut  in  the  road  where  a 
German  shell  had  burst  not  long  since. 


FIELD  SERVICE  143 

At  last  we  saw  Nomeny  —  a  town  of 
some  thirteen  hundred  inhabitants,  placed 
on  the  side  of  a  hill  and  running  down  to 
the  river  Seille,  where  it  ends  as  abruptly 
as  it  starts.  Just  a  charming  little  town, 
harmonizing  with  the  surrounding  coun- 
try as  only  French  villages  can.  We  made 
out  the  tower  of  the  ninth-century  church 
and  the  walls  of  an  old  ruined  castle.  The 
sun  blazed  on  the  scene  and  we  stood 
there  looking  with  true  pleasure  on  this 
delightful  evidence  of  French  genius  in 
combining  architecture  and  scenery.  The 
road  curved  to  the  right  for  some  two 
kilometres.  Here  Nomeny  is  hidden  from 
sight.  A  turn  to  the  left  and  there  again 
it  stands  with  its  old  castle.  But  what  an 
illusion  distance  had  played  upon  our 
sight.  Ruined  castle!  Why,  the  castle 
walls  are  the  only  things  that  are  not 
ruined.  There  stands  Nomeny's  skeleton. 
Not  a  roof,  not  a  particle  of  wood  remains ! 
Just  the  bare  walls  of  the  houses. 


144  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

We  arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
and  presenting  ourselves  at  the  com- 
mandant's bureau,  a  lieutenant  offered 
to  show  us  over  the  town.  I  cannot  de- 
scribe it.  No  words  could  adequately 
convey  the  sickening  sense  of  desolation 
and  desecration.  Here  are  the  facts. 
The  Fourth  and  Eighth  Bavarian  regi- 
ments, on  August  20,  decided  to  loot  the 
town.  Camions  coming  from  Metz  took 
away  everything  of  value.  Every  house 
was  burned,  house  by  house,  men,  women 
and  children  being  shot  as  they  tried  to 
escape.  Those  who  were  in  the  basements 
of  the  houses  were  shot  there,  or  burning 
petrol  poured  into  the  cellars.  When  the 
French  arrived  (our  guide  was  one  of  the 
first  arrivals) ,  they  had  to  bury  sixty  mur- 
dered civilians. 

Our  long  tramp  home  was  uneventful, 
though  very  tiring — except  when  we  came 
to  the  little  village  where  we  had  rested 
and  lunched   with   the   "75's"   bursting 


FIELD  SERVICE  145 

some  kilometres  away.  Here  we  found 
two  trees  across  the  road,  and  on  making 
inquiries  learned  that  the  Germans  had 
seen  the  General's  staff  car  going  along 
the  road  (did  I  explain  that  the  whole 
length  of  this  road  is  in  full  view  of  the 
enemy?)  and  seeing  the  car  enter  the  wood 
and  not  emerging  on  the  other  side,  bom- 
barded the  wood,  and  were  successful  in 
wounding  the  General's  chauffeur. 

Yesterday  we  went  to  Fey-en-Haye, 
and  we  saw  quite  another  thing.  This  lit- 
tle village,  a  bit  larger  than  Montauville, 
is  as  completely  destroyed  as  Nomeny. 
It  is  true  that  the  church  was  dynamited 
by  the  Germans,  but  here  we  have  a  legiti- 
mate excuse.  The  village  was  of  strate- 
gical importance  and  the  absolute  destruc- 
tion was  done  after  the  evacuation  of  the 
civilians.  The  ruins  look  as  different  from 
those  of  Nomeny  as  could  be  imagined. 
No  skeleton  remains;  it  simply  has  been 
destroyed  by  shell  fire,  hundreds  and  hun- 


146  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

dreds  of  shells,  both  French  and  German. 
The  whole  place  looks  as  if  some  great 
eruption  had  occurred  and  leveled  it  to  the 
ground.  Whether  it  was  necessary  or  not, 
I  don't  know,  but  here  one  gets  the  feeling 
of  war  and  shell,  while  at  Nomeny  it  is  — 
different., 

September  29th. 

Last  Monday,  we  heard  the  news  of 
the  English  and  French  victory  in  the 
Champagne.  The  shelling  of  the  French 
trenches  in  the  Bois-le-Pretre  had  been 
awful  all  day,  but  when  the  good  news 
spread  it  sent  courage  to  all  the  depressed, 
so  that  within  a  short  time,  the  woods 
rang  with  cheers  and  shouts  of  "a  la  bay- 
onette!" 

To-day,  lots  of  nice  letters  came  from 
America.  The  last  two  days  have  been 
full  of  excitement  and  we  have  been  given 
an  additional  secteur  to  evacuate;  conse- 
quently our  Section  has  been  temporarily 


FIELD  SERVICE  147 

divided  in  two.  "Mac"  and  I  remain  in 
Pont-a-Mousson.  An  attack  is  expected 
daily  and  with  it  will  come  the  usual 
heavy  bombardment  of  Pont-a-Mousson 
and  the  main  roads.  At  present  the  rain 
has  stopped  everything  and  the  French 
and  English  successes  will,  I  suppose,  be 
checked,  as  the  heavy  rain  will  make 
advances  almost  impossible. 

September  30th. 

News  came  this  morning  that  40,000 
prisoners  had  been  taken  by  the  Allies 
and  that  three  army  corps  had  passed 
through  the  lines  at  Champagne.  It  all 
seems  too  good  to  be  true,  the  first  great 
good  news  the  brave  French  have  had  for 
twelve  months.  Rain,  rain,  rain,  all  day 
long;  therefore,  I  do  not  expect  we  shall 
have  immediate  trouble  here.  The  winter 
has  come  —  the  cold  weather  is  very  bad 
and  a  night  call  is  an  unpleasant  business. 
The  other  evening  when  returning  with 


148  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

an  empty  car,  I  asked  a  sentry  whom  I 
knew  at  Dieulouard  (from  which  point 
onward  we  are  allowed  no  light)  if  there 
was  much  traffic  ahead.  "Oh,  no,"  he 
answered,  "not  much  —  it  is  mostly  past 
now."  So  with  a  " good-night "  I  started 
ahead  —  and  six  feet  farther  on  I  ran 
straight  into  a  horse! 

October  10th. 

To-day  I  saw  one  of  the  most  excit- 
ing episodes  I  have  seen  since  I  came 
out  here.  Several  German  aviatics  and 
French  planes  had  been  flying  over  the 
trenches  and  so  many  shots  were  fired  by 
both  German  and  French  guns  that  there 
were  at  least  a  hundred  white  puffs  of 
smoke  against  the  sky.  About  a  half  an 
hour  after,  three  or  four  shells  were  thrown 
into  the  town  and  I  went  up  to  the  top 
floor  of  our  house  to  watch  them  explode. 
A  German  aeroplane  could  be  seen  on 
our  lines  reconnoitering,  when  suddenly 


FIELD  SERVICE  149 

another  plane,  a  Nieuport,  came  tearing 
down  upon  it.  We  gave  a  shout,  "A 
Frenchman!  A  fight!  Vive  la  France!" 
The  Frenchman  was  now  above  the  Ger- 
man, the  German  in  full  retreat.  Lower 
and  lower  dropped  the  Frenchman,  al- 
ways overtaking  the  German.  Bang! 
bang!  bang!  went  the  mitrailleuses.  The 
German  swerved  —  the  Frenchman  was 
level  —  now  he  was  underneath !  Bang ! 
bang !  bang !  A  yell  went  up  from  us  all. 
The  German  was  hit.  His  plane  swerved, 
right  side,  left  side,  dipped,  curved, 
dipped,  nose  to  the  ground,  a  puff  of 
smoke  —  something  had  exploded  in  the 
machine;  it  was  now  dropping  straight  to 
the  earth  —  and  finally  was  lost  to  sight 
in  the  woods  of  Puvenelle.  We  yelled, 
we  shrieked,  we  cheered,  —  the  French- 
man had  won!  A  dull  roar  came  from 
the  woods  of  Bois-le-Pretre,  thousands  of 
French  voices  cheering  the  success  of 
their  comrade. 


150  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

You  may  imagine  the  excitement  at 
dinner  when  George  Roeder  and  Willis, 
who  had  not  been  with  us,  marched  into 
the  room  triumphant,  with  bits  of  the 
German  aeroplane. 

October  13th. 

Yesterday  was  a  serious  day  for  us  and 
I  had  a  bit  of  an  escape.  You  will  have 
seen,  I  expect,  that  we  were  badly  bom- 
barded and  that  incendiary  shells  were 
thrown  into  the  town.  It  was  a  Sunday  — 
it  is  always  a  Sunday.  "Gott  mit  uns,"  I 
suppose ! 

Well,  about  ten  o'clock  I  started  off 
to  pay  a  visit  to  a  "wireless"  friend  with 
whom  I  had  been  learning  to  read.  An 
aeroplane  flew  overhead  and  I  pronounced 
it  to  be  a  Frenchman.  I  was  in  the  middle 
of  the  road  when  I  heard  the  whistle  of  a 
shell  a  long  way  off,  but,  strange  to  say, 
over  my  head.  It  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
louder  and  louder.    Have  you  ever  actu- 


FIELD  SERVICE  151 

ally  experienced  that  inability  to  move 
which  sometimes  comes  in  a  dream?  I 
did  then,  for  the  first  (and  I  hope  for  the 
only)  time  in  my  life.  Louder  and  louder 
shrieked  the  shell  and  I  just  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  street  paralyzed.  I  could  not 
move.  At  last  —  bang!  And  then  I  ran, 
ran  like  a  bolted  rabbit.  Of  course,  it  was 
ludicrously  late,  but  luckily  for  me  the 
aeroplane  bomb,  for  such  it  was,  dropped 
twenty  metres  from  me,  on  the  other  side 
of  a  stone  wall.  I  need  scarcely  say  I  was 
ragged  for  my  inability  to  distinguish  a 
Frenchman  from  a  German,  but  it  is  not 
so  easy  as  one  would  imagine. 

After  lunch,  Ben  and  I  went  to  pay  a 
visit  to  some  of  our  friends  in  the  trenches 
and  afterwards  walked  through  the  first 
line  for  some  time. 

About  three  o'clock,  we  heard  a  heavy 
bombardment,  the  shells  passing  over  our 
heads  in  the  direction  of  the  town.  We 
walked  to  the  edge  of  the  hill  and  sitting 


152  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

down  watched  the  poor  little  place  being 
shelled  for  two  hours.  The  explosions  of 
the  German  shells  and  the  shrieking  of 
the  French  ones  as  they  flew  overhead  to 
silence  the  German  batteries  was  most 
impressive. 

At  last,  one  shell  came  very  near  the 
house  where  Ben  and  I  lived  and  was 
followed  shortly  after  by  a  second,  even 
nearer.  Ben  jumped  up  exclaiming, 
"  Come  on.  I  can't  watch  that  any  more; 
it  is  too  close  to  our  house  and  I  have  a 
new  winter  uniform  there." 

We  returned  to  our  friends'  dugouts 
about  six  and  had  an  excellent  supper  in 
the  open  with  stars  and  trees  as  a  back- 
ground and  a  gramophone  to  provide 
music,  600  metres  from  the  Germans. 

The  other  day,  we  took  another  walk 
through  the  woods  further  back  from 
those  I  have  been  talking  about,  where 
the  Germans  were  last  September.  Shell- 
holes     everywhere,     and     old    trenches 


FIELD  SERVICE  .153 

marked  the  battle  lines.  Violets  had  al- 
ready appeared  and  I  picked  a  few  and 
put  them  in  my  fatigue-cap.  Passing 
along  a  little  wood-path,  we  came  upon 
the  inevitable  harvest,  —  two  wooden 
crosses,  side  by  side  —  but  different !  One 
cross  was  more  carefully  hewn,  and  nailed 
to  it  by  a  bullet  was  a  little  piece  of  red 
cloth,  the  color  of  the  trousers  the  French 
infantry  wore  at  the  beginning  of  the  war, 
and  which  is  said  to  have  cost  France 
several  hundred  thousand  men.  The 
other  cross  was  just  twro  sticks,  and  hang- 
ing on  it  was  a  piece  of  gray-blue,  —  a 
German.  So  here,  side  by  side,  a  long, 
long  way  from  town  or  village,  in  the  si- 
lence of  the  wood,  lie  two  nameless  sol- 
diers.    Foes?   I  wonder. 


So  the  days  pass  —  Now,  with  the 
evening,  comes,  as  often,  a  grateful  time 
of  stillness.   I  like  to  watch  from  my  win- 


154  AMERICAN  AMBULANCE 

dow  the  shadows  lengthen  as  the  sun 
leaves  to  them  their  part.  A  little  later, 
when  they  have  wholly  obscured  all  de- 
tail, man  will  perhaps  furtively  begin 
some  move  to  make  the  night  unlovely 

—  but  for  the  moment  there  is  rest. 

An  owl  has  just  hooted  —  a  musty  old 
clock  has  just  struck  six  —  a  convoy 
wagon  rumbling  along  the  road  raises  a 
cloud  of  golden  dust  —  then  silence  again. 

Lately  I  have  discovered  a  beautiful 
garden  full  of  fruit  and  flowers  where  an 
old  man  still  stays  as  caretaker.  Schroe- 
der  and  I  go  there  often  and  eat  the  fruit 
which  is  spoiling  on  the  trees. 

Sometimes  —  when  the  day's  work  is 
done  —  and  there  is  a  quiet  hour  here,  it 
is  good  to  think  of  other  gardens  far  away 
where  the  salt  air  comes  in  from  the  sea 

—  or  often  the  fog,  on  these  still  summer 
evenings.  I  can  understand  now  the  lure 
of  peace  —  and  so  I  am  doubly  grateful 
that  those  of  you  for  whom  I  care  most 


FIELD  SERVICE  155 

have  chosen  to  work  —  rather  than  to  for- 
get the  struggle  here.  When  I  come  back 
to  you  some  day.  we  shall  feel  a  greater 
peace  and  sympathy  for  knowing  that 
with  the  same  eagerness,  if  in  different 
ways,  we  have  tried  to  serve  and  to  save 
those  men  whose  heroism  makes  our  best 
effort  seem  a  very  small  thing. 


THE   END 


<3tbe  ftitoer?ibe  pizpj 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .   A 


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